Dark Deity: Book One
by rotburn
Summary: UNDER CONSTRUCTION! 19 May 2016... Something ancient and hungry lies lurking beneath the stone pillars of Hogwarts. One unlucky boy happens to stumble into it's path... or maybe he was summoned by it? Harry Potter will find that he isn't exactly what he thought he was. Marv/Harry Tom/Harry Vold/Harry (AUDark)
1. entry

_**I do not own Harry Potter or its characters, this piece of Fan Fiction does not make any money.**_

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**I decided that there needs to be more dark stories with this pairing, so here I am writing one:**

**This is an experiment...**

**Pairing: Vol/HP**

**Warnings: Rated M for a reason.**

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**Entry**

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_To whomever procures this journal,_

_I found a passage... usually something so simple and utterly normal shouldn't even spark much of interest in a world full of magic. Every day people come across countless halls, corridors, and pathways, but this one... this one is special._

_As I said, I found a passage and it's hidden behind a door._

_No, don't sigh like that in exasperation, let me introduce you slowly to these fading thoughts like dying flowers as winter peeks around the cycle of seasons. Let me paint a picture in the landscape of your mind upon the very momentous discovery I made once upon a time ago, before I lost my innocence, humanity, and soul. Before I became a Dark Lord._

_Oh, did that capture your attention? _

_Is the feeling of the soft aging leather in your hands summoning you? _

_Does the moist parchment with the coppery scent of blood lull you into a state of bewitchment? _

_Are you perhaps enchanted enough to continue reading my lopping handwriting scrawled across these bound papyrus pages?_

_Well then, I shall have to warn you now: there is no __happy ending __to my story. This is not a fairy tale where star-crossed lovers defeat their aggressors and are fated to become beloved rulers, whilst bringing the Universe to its knees. No, this is truth and reality, smothered with the poisonous undercurrents of cosmic horror. _

_I have traveled countless worlds. Learned dangerous magics. Witnessed startling discoveries. Ruled alien races. Wooed forgotten deities. Stolen powerful artifacts. I have been behind the veil and back again, all it seems, for naught. I have met men and monsters with equal power, invoking similar designs of domination mirrored in myself and I have come out as the victor._

_I cannot express this melancholy feeling -with only human words to help describe the complexity of it lingering within this flesh of mine. For it's far deeper than despair, or hatred, or even the dreadful clutches of true fright. I cannot even begin to scratch the surface of its endless depth, yet I will try to recreate this same emotion subtly throughout the telling of my story. Maybe, as I strive to recount these deliciously painful and horrifyingly wonderful events, you will begin to understand me in all of my madness._

_Maybe that is what I truly wish in the last uncertain hours of my existence, as I sit on the edge of another rotting world. Its skies blackened and acid seas spitting. A spelled quill rests in my hand and papers flutter in the gaseous winds carried over the desolation of mangled bodies, still struggling in a lost battle between life and death. I wish to be understood. For my choices of course and maybe, just maybe, I wish to be forgiven. Wish to know that it isn't my fault that I have destroyed trillions of lives for the selfish yearning in chasing down a whispering dream. An aching and tainted love..._

_So let me stroke this dreadful painting on the canvas that is my skin, with blood as the pigment, tears as the soluble, and hopefully you can see the same beauty in the horror of my life as I do._

_Where am I? Oh yes-_

_I found a dark passage curving downward into the bowels of the earth beneath a school, hidden behind a door that comes and goes..._

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**Chapter End.**


	2. decay

**Chapter Warnings: cussing, self-mutilation**

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**Decay**

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Harry glares at the surface of the table as he rubs it down with a small handkerchief in one hand and a bottle of polish in the other. A solemn face stares back, gaunt and sickly, looking as if a plague grips him. It makes the boy wince to see himself in any sort of reflection which he passes. He wishes anything to be growing out of soft baby skin that the irritating Parkinson possesses, or even to be blessed with sculptured bones like that prat Malfoy.

Unfortunately for him and disheartening for his father, Harry always appears as if a disease is ravaging his form. The truth is close enough...

Food it seems, does not sit well in his stomach. The small amounts that make it safely down his gag-reflex stays there as a solid lump in the acid pit, waiting for later to travel back up his trachea in the stalls of the loo. Not only is food difficult to keep down, it's difficult to actually put into his mouth and swallow as well. Extremely so.

To make sure his body doesn't waste away, Has must visit the Hospital Wing twice a day to take the necessary nutrient-potions.

Maybe if it's just the food that unsettles him, he can pretend to be normal like the rest of the students, but it isn't so.

Some speculate that if one part of the body is tainted, then the rest will surely follow. For years now, the symptoms have been building up into a dreadful crescendo. An orchestra of physical, mental, and emotional turmoil that plays his body like a wire on the edge of snapping.

Harry's starving state makes him susceptible to terrible head-colds in the summer and devastating flues in the winter. He is easy to bruise and hard to heal without outside help. Sleep is a luxury that is induced on most nights when the crawling under his skin and feverish sweats are too much to bare. Oftentimes, he'll even find himself sleepwalking in an attempt to escape the dreams of his mother's haunting screams. Finally, body locked in some sort of existence between life and death, Harry must endure the disturbing illusions which occur around him, signaling the mental breakdown of an ailing child tottering towards teen years.

_'It's all really such a vicious cycle.'_

Many, including his own father, believe that it's a curse in which You-Know-Who imparted on him that fateful night years ago. A curse that keeps Harry bent in starvation, weak in magic, and tired with every breath that enters and leaves his rattling form.

Healers had once told his father that he may not last through the passage of childhood to adulthood. That his body is far too weak and that it's a miracle Harry is still alive with only stubborn resentment to fuel him. It's a matter of time and a bloody nightmare for Harry. Even worse are the stares of sorrow his father and godfather aim at him.

It makes Harry grit his teeth in anger.

He hates the looks people have given him all his life, which only seems to double since he's at Hogwarts this year. Once more, the obnoxious Malfoy heir is taking it upon some twisted duty to try and cheer him up every now and then, while keeping him at a healthy distance.

_'How __annoying.'_

But there is one person he can count on to never waver at his thin teetering body...

Harry peeks through the fringe of his unruly hair. The man lounging behind the mahogany desk at the head of the classroom feels the sudden attention of his gaze and looks up to pin him with dark onyx eyes. He jerks his head down to escape Professor Snape's sneer. An ironic smirk twitches at the side of his lips. The Potions Professor always has and will despise him it seems. It doesn't matter if that hate stems from the resentment towards his father, Harry can feel the rising power of resolve build in him. The man gives him strength.

_'Don't give up! Don't let the world devour you! Don't wither away like everyone expects you to!'_

Pulling his mind away from dark thoughts and placing them solely in the cleaning of another table in the classroom, Harry makes sure to work as slowly as possible so that he may-

"Your time has ended, _Potter_. Go join the rest of the students in the Great Hall."

He bites his bottom lip to stifle the groan. Dinner... already... he had hoped the _Dungeon Bat_ would have been so involved in that blasted book, that the clock would tick away and Harry wouldn't have to face the world.

Professor Snape though, is intensely precise and impeccable at both time and judgment. For as Harry collects his things bitterly and opens the door to leave, that dry tone stabs him on the way out. "Do try to _eat_ something, Potter. I'm not interested in watching you lose focus and forget to counter-stir your cauldron _again_..."

Heat threatens to induce Harry into a fever just thinking about the explosion in Potions earlier that day. It's the reason he's been on cleaning detail before dinner. He swallows the thickness in his throat, "Y-yes Professor."

Shutting the door, Harry stumbles down the hall berating his sore pride.

_'Perceptive- monotonous- devious- bat!'_

With more interesting words that jump into the forefront of his mind, he reaches the Great Hall and slinks inside. Barely anyone seems to acknowledge his existence. It makes him resent them, _all_ of them.

Harry grips the schoolbag tightly to his bony frame and sneaks on a seat at the end of the Slytherin table. A few students shift away instinctively, their senses uneasy with his presence. Maybe they think he might infect them? Maybe they think he's worthless? Maybe they're right... he doesn't have any redeeming Slytherin qualities at all. No looks, no charm, no Pureblood status, and barely any magic at all. There is the Potter wealth, but his _B__loodtraitor _lines discredit him in their eyes. Also the fact that he somehow destroyed the late Dark Lord who happened to hail from Slytherin. The dark wizard had been a murderer and horror, but it became clear quickly to Harry that Slytherin's views had been similar to the madman's. So really, no... nothing. To his Housemates he is only an insect that should be smashed under their gleaming leather shoes. They don't even find it worthwhile to harass him since his life expectancy is rumored to be limited.

If only he has beauty, charisma, strong magic... but instead he's a _joke_. He should have known that joining Slytherin isn't as glorious as that blasted _hat _made him believe.

_'I shouldn't have trusted it... I shouldn't trust anyone!'_

Back at the beginning of the school year, when he was up to be sorted into a House, Harry had been feeling delirious and angry towards his father at the time. He chose the green and silver not only for the glory, but to make his father pay for sending him to this far off academic environment instead of being home-schooled. What's the point of attending if people don't even think he'll survive past Fourth Year anyway? He can still remember the sweet shock on his father and godfather's face. Merlin, _everyone_ had been shocked. Then people got over it, and in time forgot completely.

Frowning, Harry lets out a sigh and smothers a cough as noxious fumes steam from the food before him. Now comes the part that he dreads the most every _damn _day. Eating. No matter how simple or exquisite food may be for others, it's exactly the opposite to him.

Trying to play it safe, the raven-haired boy tentatively picks up an apple and peers at it.

_'Nothing yet.' _

He nods to himself and brings it to colorless lips, trying to simultaneously hold his breath and take a bite at the same time. Teeth break the apple's skin with a crispness and Harry forces himself to swallow the bite without letting his tongue touch. Success.

On his next bite though, he makes his first mistake choking on it. He spits it onto his plate and his second mistake is looking at it. The blood drains from Harry's face... black rotten mush rests on the pale dish, he glances at his hand and decides that it's his third and final mistake. The apple is oozing around the edges where he has bitten into it. Yellowish puss begins to darken and white squirming maggots inch across the fruit. The apple falls from his hand and rolls across the table.

Instantly now, he can feel the tiny bulbous bodies wiggling against his gums. They crawl over his teeth in the sludge-like sweetness. He sputters into a napkin, trying to keep from throwing up in front of his classmates. Sweat breaks fresh from his pores and his breathing shallows. Shakily, Harry reaches for a glass of juice. He downs the drink and grimaces as what is supposed to be cranberry flavor, only tastes like a concoction of liquid decay.

_'Why is it just me? Why doesn't anyone else experience this too?!'_

But he knows why. It isn't the food, it's him... and the thrice damned _curse_.

Torn with disgust, he watches as the children stuff themselves with the seemingly harmless food. A wave of sickness washes over Harry, he stands from the bench. Not a single person bothers to ask him what's wrong. No one seems to care of his horrible state. He _hates_ them.

Once again, back in the corridors, the youth decides that a trip to the Hospital Wing is in order. Pattering along the sleek marble floors, his form rises up interchanging stairs, and slips by chattering paintings. He pushes open the Infirmary doors with a creek and stands swaying on his feet in front of Madame Pomfrey sitting at her desk.

The matron suddenly blinks, her eyebrows climbing to her hairline. "So soon Mr. Potter?"

He winces for the second time under the gaze of a knowing adult. "I... couldn't get anything down. So I came straight here."

"Indeed." Madame Pomfrey tries to appear scolding as she climbs to her wry feet. Crossing the room, the witch pokes about the cabinet on the back wall.

Harry watches through his thick lenses as she shuffles several potions on the ledge marked with his name. Large brightly colored bottles rest there waiting for the Potter male to devour over the course of a continual twenty-four hour wheel. On the same shelf, towards the right corner stands a few smaller vials containing darker mixtures. A cold shiver dances across the boy's spine every time he sees them, but he can't help be drawn to look with fear and morbid interest every time. _Those_ are only for emergencies to his worsening condition. Only to be used when he falls into a full body fit; either his muscles shutting down, or magic turning on him.

So far, only one has been forced down his throat. It had been the first day of Flying Lesson's too. His weak magic had a fit connecting with the broom and back-fired. It was also the same day when a helplessly entranced, Draco Malfoy, decided he should be checked up on every once in a while. All to make sure that the blond doesn't have to, quote: "witness the disturbing ministrations of ones' horrendous demise". Who knew the Pureblood jerk is squeamish at the sight of suffering?

_'It's a bit funny actuallt...'_

Needless to say, Professor Hooch made him the official supplies boy. Joy. Thank the Pantheons, he can still hold a wand even if it tends to ignore him sometimes.

"Here you are." Madame Pomfrey hands the short male three bottles and a nutrient muffin.

Face scrunching at the muffin, he gives the woman a pleading look. "Can't I have the liquid kind?"

Her serious face hardens, "You didn't eat, you need something solid Mr. Potter. If you really cannot get it down I'll magic it inside your stomach, but I want you to _try_ eating it first. Your saliva glands must keep functioning properly or there will be another problem on our hands."

_'She says it like she's the one dealing with this too.'_

Grunting, Harry nods and is steered to a seat in the infirmary, whilst being told not to leave until everything is _settled_.

Quickly, he munches down the muffin. Cringing at the moist feeling of molding bread, he sips steadily at the otherwise tasteless potions. Taking potions seems to be the most vexing and best part of his day. If he can deduce what water tastes like from what his godfather explains, than potions to him equal to water and water in general is acidic. Is there even a reason why? Probably just his mental process all screwed up from the _curse_ people whisper about. Sometimes he likes to think his brain is similar to Muggle technology and that some arsehole got inside and rewired everything. It would also explain the other problem_..._

Placing the empty beakers on a side table, Harry stands and nods to the woman. She sends him on his way as she ushers another student inside. Passing by the teary-eyed Ravenclaw with bushy hair, he can only roll his eyes at the small burn she's sporting on her arm. Leaving with a little more strength showing in his steps, the youth ponders on why potions taste better than everything else. If he can actually create them well enough for himself and Potions Class maybe his Head of House won't be so bitter towards him. Another insubstantial dream.

Down the hall.

Within a bathroom.

Inside a stall.

Harry pulls out the long needle he stole off Madame Pomfrey's surgical tray. The woman had been too focused on the Ravenclaw to notice his sneaky fingers. Eyeing the silver tool, he hesitates only once before placing it on the smooth skin where his wrist is visible. Green orbs watch as he pushes the needle. The skin indents and then breaks, but there is no pain. None at all, it simply doesn't _hurt_. Angry, he digs deeper. Blood begins to drip as he works the needle side to side viciously. He wants to feel something, _anything!_ As the tool makes the flesh open and squelch, something does begin to happen. There's a sensation engulfing over the numbness of his toes and trekking higher. His heart throbs to a quickening pace and the front of his pants tighten in building pressure. Deeper and deeper the needle goes until finally, a loud scrape catches his breath.

The needle scratches across his bone, vibrating up his arm and throughout his body. A gasp escapes his lips and his hot forehead meets the cool stall door. He can feel it... the _pleasure_. Overwhelming and addicting.

It seems as if hours flash by as the euphoria settles and vanishes, leaving behind a pleasant thrum through his system.

Matted hair clings to his glistening neck. He catches his breath, noting the sticky sensation between his legs. It surprises him. What he's done. His own reactions.

The needle slips from bloody fingers to clang on the tile floor. Harry slumps onto the closed stool and ignores his glasses as they topple away. Both hands cover his face, the blood ignored as it smears against his cheek. A whimper cuts through the low rushing of water in the loo pipes.

"What the _fuck_ is wrong with me?"

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**Chapter End.**


	3. clack

**Chapter Warnings: despair**

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**Clack**

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The bed feels irritatingly lumpy, soft surface only serving to make him glare silently with blurry orbs at the dark contours of the canopy's underbelly. Thoughts churn over and over in Harry's head for the millionth time. Questioning his illness and the fading future slipping from his hands every day.

A fear begins to claw at the inside of his ribs, it steadily increases its tormenting pace.

_'I'm going to die...'_

The simple and horrifying thought jumps into his restless mind. Death, actual death. Final, unforgiving, nothingness... the end of his existence.

Harry's body contorts viciously. Something imaginary seizing his heart and throwing it into a gaping black hole. It feels real. Stark and piercing. He turns his head into the feathered pillow and screams, fingers clenching sheets in terror.

For all the suffering this short life has offered so far, he doesn't want to die, not now, not ever!

Huffing, Harry's tries to soothe the mental agony. Pretend that it doesn't exist even if it hovers over him patiently, waiting for his guard to lower so that it may assalt him again.

_'It's okay. It's okay. Everything's going to be fine!'_

So why are there tears spilling from his eyes?

Harry lets out a tired sob, muscles easing until he falls utterly quiet and still again. For a moment he tries to forget his distress, tries to push the emotional pain into the far reaches of his mind-

_-Not my Harry! Please no, not Harry! I beg you!-_

He rips the silver blankets off and stumbles out through the emerald curtains, the fabric shimmers in the moonlight. Knees slam onto the stone floor as his legs give out. There is no pain. Where nerves send signals through an intricate system, it splits off track somewhere and only pleasure floods his body. That curse must have truly scrambled up his brain. Who can stab themselves and only feel an elation of sexual stimuli besides those mental?

"That's it..." A hushed laugh slips out, "I'm insane..."

_'But surely this isn't insanity? Not yet.'_

Slowly, Harry climbs back onto both feet. Dark splotches of blood dampen the green material of his pajama pants. Tugging on a long shirt curled at the end of the bed, he covers the cut on his wrist subconsciously. With a few blinks in the fuzzy darkness, the raven-haired boy takes note of the three other beds in the Slytherin dormitory. The other males still dream peaceful little dreams of political schemes and victorious duels.

_'How quaint.'_

Too bad he can't join them. Instead, Harry fumbles at the nightstand to place circular glasses on, making searching through his trunk easier. He drags out the invisibility cloak.

A gift from his father in celebration of receiving a Hogwarts letter. The man couldn't give him any of the things he needs, but count on the elder Potter to try and induce a bit of mischief. Trying to smile at the memory, it only melts off his face and Harry runs the pads of his skeletal fingers over the silky material. A glance at his own bed and he decides there's no chance for sleep tonight. So a stroll it is.

It takes him another minute to hunt for his holly wand hidding among the cooling sheets, before he slips on the cloak. Harry disappears completely from the bedroom. Tentatively, he makes his way out, passing into the Common Room and creeping by the black lounge chairs in front of a crackling fire. The stone wall leading out of the Slytherin Dungeons shifts and he leaves quickly before the green serpent, stitched into the banner over the hearth, can fully awake and realize that a student is leaving.

Thinking about what Professor Snape will do to him if he's caught, makes Harry cringe as he glides along the stone corridors.

Sound is amplified and twisted in the lower levels of the castle. During the day you can hear whispers echoing, and during the night the rushing currents of the Great Lake, as well as hundreds of other strange noises that seem to have no particular origin. Harry finds these sounds utterly ghastly and fascinating at the same time. Lately he'd do this, walk through the passages listening to the settling of the walls and moisture dripping from the ceiling-

"I can _hear it_..." An excited pitch echoes from down the hall.

The high and manic pitch makes the hairs on Harry's arms rise. Halting almost immediately, the youth strains his hearing. All that follows is the shifting air and the low curious sound...

_Clack-clack, clack-clack._

"I can hear it!"

Flinching, his nerves now on edge and telling him to turn right back around, Harry fights within himself to dredge a bit of courage up.

_'Whoever it is, they won't be able to see me anyway.'_

Inching forward, the hall splits off to the stairs leading up into Hogwarts on the right, a dead end a bit further ahead. He can't see anyone in the hall or on the stairs. The odd noise continues from the back of the hall, where the shadows are darkest is deepest. That clacking, a dreadful and primitive sound. It causes his stomach to flip and breathing to grow shallow. As it sounds, it stops just as abruptly.

"I can, I can, I can! Ha-ha! Oh, can you _hear_ it too?"

His heart beats rapidly in his chest as he takes one step forward at a time, into the arched area with the stone staircase. The candles flicker and paintings remain silent. Harry moves along the wall back into the darkness on the other side of the hall and forces his eyes to adjust.

"Oh! Oh! _Hunching, crunching,_ _munching!_ Its hunger is so endless~! Singing, humming, lulling! It's searching so relentless~!"

Peeking into the only room at the end of the corridor, Harry happens upon the strange sight of Peeves doing a jig above the Bloody Baron's head. The poltergeist seems to be having a raving good time by the look of his devilish smirk, but the other ghost naturally tunes him out.

"Can you hear it? Can you hear it?!"

"Oh, I can hear it you madman..." Seethes the Bloody Baron, his tone rumbling and irritated, "-but I don't understand."

From his angle, Harry can see the Baron's side profile, the ghost is scratching his beard and staring downward. Curious, the young Slytherin sidles up against the frame of the door, trying to get a better look at what the other is glowering at. There's nothing on the floor besides dirt and cobwebs.

_'I don't see anything.'_

Harry moves to enter the room just enough to sweep his eyes along the wall where the door resides.

_Clack, clack, clack, clack._

The sudden queer noise sets off an immediate reaction in both himself and the phantoms.

A fearful gasp jolts from Harry's lips. He's drowned out by the sound of Peeves shrieking in half-fear and half-delight, rolling around in the air with hands covering both ears. The Bloody Baron only takes several steps back, milky eyes wearily watching the floor.

_'But there's nothing there!'_

_Clack! Clack-clack, clack. _

It's fainter this time, but it still literally drives Peeves up the wall, clawing off several abandoned paintings. "Down, down, down, down! Deep, deep, deep, deep! Can't get out! Can't get in! What to do? What to do?"

The horrible rhyme only serves to upset the boy huddled against the door as Peeves throws himself to the floor, jerking on the Baron's misty robes. "Down there! It's down there!"

Snarling, the Bloody Baron thrusts Peeves off of him. "I know little fool! Something is down there..." He whirls around, as if afraid to keep his back unprotected and for a startling second, Harry wonders what can scare someone who is already dead?

"But this is the lowest level in Hogwarts. You simply _cannot_ go deeper."

Hissing and spitting, Peeves waves his arms wildly like an impatient child. "If we can't go down, let's go up! Bloody Bastard! Up, up! Up~!" Again the poltergeist tries to drag the thoughtful ghost away, until finally the Baron deems that the sound has finally retreated.

"Very well, let us go away from this accursed place lest we find ourselves trapped, waiting and listening for eternity."

The two specters drift across the room and through the back wall, the singsong voice of Peeves drifting in through the stones, "Hunching, crunching, munching! Its hunger is so _endless~_! Singing, humming, lulling! It's searching so _relentless__~!_

Shivering, the room's sole occupant stares at the empty spot on the ground. Chest rising and falling, his flushed body prickles with adrenaline. A dull throb pulses near the crown of his skull. A warm tickles his forehead. Harry reaches up to scratch at it and to his dismay, he jerks his hand down in surprise... staring at his own blood. Fear blinds him and the Potter heir retreats, darting back down the halls in fright.

The _clacking_ sound still echoing in his mind.

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**Chapter End.**


	4. feud

**Chapter Warnings: cussing**

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**Feud**

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Shouts of laughter and taunts fill the air as mid-October's chilly winds make a wonderful day for Flying Lessons. Well for everyone except Harry Potter that is.

Standing beside the bleachers, Harry stays out of the windy gusts that try to whip him off his feet. Winter doesn't bother the young Slytherin like it does the other children, but it's more dangerous for him. Where the average person can feel the stinging bite of the cold and realize they need to put on extra protection, the Potter heir has to guess at the temperature by watching other people so he doesn't make the mistake and catch pneumonia or heat stroke. Just because he can't feel pain or the extreme sides of ice and fire, doesn't mean his body can withstand them.

Glaring at the happy faces racing on brooms above him, Harry has his arms crossed since he's bound to the ground. He's always wondered what it would be like to fly. To find a freedom in the wind and speeding away from all the troubles trying to catch up. Unfortunately, he doesn't get the opportunity. Now, as the equipment handler, he's in charge of the school brooms that can be signed out by those who don't own one or for those who want to try a few risky moves without breaking their personal besoms. Harry also stands guard in making sure the Bludgers don't escape the chest. He mostly tries to amuse himself by thinking about releasing them and watching some of the students get throttled.

Madame Hooch zooms by just then, weaving through the Slytherin and Gryffindor students, whilst ready to blow on her shrill whistle. The raven-haired male cocks his head to the side and entertains the vision of her getting hit by an imaginary Bludger and falling off. It serves to improve his foul mood.

His mind though, keeps drifting back to last night and his midnight escapade. The scene plays out in his head a few times, how Peeves and the Bloody Baron had acted. Their obvious fear. He can still hear that awful _clacking _noise. Fresh and repeating in his mind. Sinister in nature and almost mocking. Harry wonders if he can ever forget that disturbing sound.

"Hey you!"

The youth turns to the impudent voice with a deep scowl on his face. Three Gryffindor's come tromping towards him, elbowing each other and annoying him with their overzealous happiness. The one in the middle, with red hair and a great amount of freckles makes a beeline to him. "My name is _Potter__._"

The redhead stops short, a look of hesitation crosses his face at the Slytherin's clipped tone. He blinks again because really, this is the first time he's looked at _the_ Harry Potter. At the beginning of term when the legendary hero showed up, everyone had insisted it wasn't really the boy who defeated the Dark Lord. No, it couldn't be. This scrawny thing smaller than even him... Ron's starstruck expectations had fallen. When the wraith was labeled _Slytherin,_ Ron had given up entirely in childhood dreams of friendship. The Weasley just can't see anything _special _in the four-eyed snake in front of him.

Seamus and Dean stand oblivious behind Ron, still yammering about different feints and moves.

Ron wants to prove to them he can indeed mimic a Grizzle Sweep invented by the Heidleburg Harriers in 1989 with a partner, but he doesn't want to accidentally break his own broom in the process. His mum would kill him! So he'll have to chance talking to the _cursed kid_. "Yeah, hand me a broom would ya?"

With a sigh, Harry holds out his hand. The redhead only stares at it in confusion. Irritated Harry seethes at him, "You have to hand over _your_ broom."

"What?! I'm not giving my broom to some slimy Slytherin!"

Seamus and Dean look up in question to their friend's sudden outburst.

Frown deepening, Harry sucks in a breath. His vision dots with black as irritation rises in his body. "It's a trade you curd! You have to switch out yours for a school one, it ensures that you don't _steal_ it."

"Who in their right mind would steal a crummy school broom?"

"I don't know! But if you want to use it you have to trade it."

"Fine!" Ron hands over his broom with a distrustful glare. "When I come back there better not be even a _scratch_ on it."

"Right." Harry snatches the ugliest broom he can find and holds it up.

"Seriously? Give me a better one!"

"Why? So you can break a better broom with whatever stupid maneuver you're trying to act out?"

"Why you-" Ron pulls back his fist, but Seamus grabs at him.

"Oy, don't do it Ron. He's only tryin' to make ya flip!"

"Just take the broom." Dean agrees, eyeing a few Slytherin males who land on the ground a few yards away from them.

The two boys glare at one another until Ron tears the broom from Harry's hand rudly. The redhead goes to turn away when he catches the triumphant smirk twisting onto the so-called Hero's face. Bloody Potter! The frail and worshiped kid cursed by the Dark Lord. At least the brat's alive! How can someone like the Savior be anything less than kind and generous? Instead the berk is a Slytherin! Heat erupts in his chest and fists clench, but Seamus and Dean have their hands on his arms. "You know... you should join the Quidditch Team."

Harry's satisfied smile falls off his face in confusion.

A grin tugs at the side of Ron's cheek seeing the flash of hope in those eyes, "They could use a lackey to carry their equipment."

His body stills. Nostrils flare and jaw tenses, but otherwise Harry remains silent. This is the first time someone outside of his House has said more than a single line to him, and it just so happens to be an offensive statement.

_'Figures.'_

Receiving no comeback, the Gryffindor's glance at one another with mischief brewing. They never witnessed such a quiet Slytherin before. The idea of getting back at the otherwise snarky and pompous bastards fills them with courage to continue.

"If you lick the dirt off their boots they might let you touch a Snitch."

"Maybe if you play_ Find The Snitch_ in their pants you'll get a prize." The boys snicker at the perverted meaning that unleashes an array of jibes.

"You could wax their balls!"

"Polish their brooms!"

The jokes get more debauching as they go, sending the Gryffindor's into fits of laughter at the otherwise blank expression on Harry's face.

Trust a Irishman though, to take it too far, "You can be their glorified _bitch."_

Dean chokes in surprise, Ron and Seamus continue to roar in laughter. The dark skinned boy glances over with an apologetic smile, but it slides off his face the moment he takes in the unnatural gleam in those stark green eyes. He steps back with building unease. The pale and gaunt face makes those vibrant orbs almost glowing. Dean can see themselves reflecting in those orbs, not laughing, but screaming instead... Then the dreadful moment is broken-

"Well if it isn't the _weasel_ and his posse of _B__loodtraitor_ friends." A gleeful voice cuts through the Gryffindor's fun like a sharp knife.

They all turn in time to witness a devious blond strutting over to them with two thugs following closely at a brisk pace.

"_Malfoy..._" Ron spits the Pureblood's name like a curse word, drawing an amused grin from the arriving boy.

"Well yes, that's my name isn't it? I'm so glad you remember." Comes the daunting purr. Those calculating orbs flick over the scene, assessing the situation.

"What do you want?"

"Oh, nothing. Just leveling the playing field. Never knew you Gryffindorks were brutal enough to gang up on someone."

"Yeah? Well we've been taking notes from your _lot_, and it seems like _ganging up_ is perfectly acceptable."

"Our lot?" Draco's lips quiver, "There's nothing wrong with taking examples from your betters, Weasley. You just happened to make one mistake..."

Ron growls as the blond leans dramatically into his personal space. "Yeah? And what's that?"

"You don't mess with us snakes unless you want to get _bitten._"

"You white haired son-of-a-" Again, Dean and Seamus latch onto Ron as Malfoy easily rocks backward on his feet, Crab and Goyle hunch forward in anticipation for the redhead to try and land a punch.

"Run along _weasel, _you'll need some practice on that broom if you want to try and beat me at anything."

Harry watches, as the Gryffindor's stomp off, plotting whatever thick-headed revenge that lions concoct. Pranks most likely. He levels his eyes on the intrusive Malfoy who is smoothing long robes as if invisible residue is left behind from the Gryffindor's. His orbs track the perfectly manicured nails as they sweep down the fine material with analytic detachment.

Lifting his pointed chin, Draco lets out a exasperated sigh. He shoos away his cretins. "Don't look at me like that, it's... unsettling."

Finally blinking, Harry turns away. The strange vibes of utter calm and drowning anger evaporates from him only to be replaced by a snarl.

"Much better."

"Go away, Malfoy."

"Oh? After coming to your aid you're going to get all pissy with me?"

"I never asked for your help." His eyes narrow on the blond. "I can handle myself."

"Really?" Draco steps closer, a sneer mirroring the other, "Because last I saw, you were being verbally whipped and simply taking it like some slow-witted buffoon. Slytherin's don't take defeat lightly. You better find some sort of pride Potter, because if the other Houses don't eat you alive, trust me when I say that Slytherin _will_."

Harry sucks in a breath, rage building inside; towards the Gryffindor's for their assault, towards Malfoy for being right, but mostly towards himself for being so feeble. As if summoned by the tension in the very air that helpless soul-sucking sensation comes from nowhere and everywhere. A dizzying feeling of weakness begins to slip into his bones, making him light-headed. He sways on his feet. Forcing himself not to fall, Harry grits his teeth and hisses out, "I_ can_ handle myself."

Gray eyes take in the wobbling legs, shaking hands, as well as the messy hair and sweat. Mostly, Draco notices the burning green orbs that are shinning with determination. "Can you?"

Heart thudding in sudden excitement, Harry realizes just who he is talking to: The Slytherin Prince. Until now he hasn't really given any of the students much thought, let alone the nosy Malfoy heir. If there is anyone in his House that can improve his ranking then it's Draco _bloody _Malfoy. "Let me _prove _myself."

Like before, two males stare at one another. This time without confrontation or hatred, this time with understanding and conviction.

"Fine..." Draco drawls taking a step to the side, pretending not to be pleased with something in his own secret thoughts. "The Slytherin Dungeon tonight, after Lights Out."

A grin slowly breaks across Harry's face as he watches the blond saunter away. Finally a chance to prove himself!

_'This is it!'_

With a laugh, Harry throws down Weasley's broom and gives it a kick for good measure. He suddenly can't wait for tonight! No matter what Malfoy throws at him he'll be ready. He simply will _not_ lose, because the truth is: he can't afford to.

* * *

**Chapter End.**


	5. task

**Chapter Warnings: cussing**

* * *

**Task**

* * *

Harry tightens his fists, trying to keep the shaking to a minimum. He's excited, his cheeks are actually rosy from the heat of adrenaline flooding his body.

Whatever the task is, he'll complete it without a problem. Doesn't matter if it has anything to do with magic or not, Harry will gladly induce himself into a seizure just to receive even an ounce of notary in his House.

Under his school robes he's hidden the Invisibility Cloak and has other odds-and-ends stuffed in random pockets. Harry isn't sure what's going to happen, but he wants to be prepared.

Pacing the small bathroom for the umpteenth time, Harry decides that it's now or never. He exits the loo adjoined to the dormitory. The beds are empty, no doubt everyone is in the Slytherin Common Room aka; _Slytherin Dungeon_. Letting out a breath and sucking in deeply, the raven-haired male opens the door and makes his way to the meeting point.

The large room is cast in emerald, the usually burning hearth is out. Instead, there are candles lining the walls, magical green flames flickering up the sides. A silent black mass of witches and wizards are standing in a semi-circle with their hoods drawn, keeping their features unrecognizable. Shadows are cast around the room from their bodies, the shades contorting in a menacing dance. The Great Lake's aquatic noises ring off the stone walls and the Slytherin banner is awake. Hissing in the background, the snake slithers in the rippling fabric. Amused but otherwise silent, the reptile is in no immediate threat of snitching on the students. For now these actions are warranted, because this takes precedence: passage, tradition, and ceremony. Tonight is a night for trails...

Harry steps out from the darkness of the staircase and stands within reach of the group. Giddiness bubbles under his skin, but he remains impassive.

A person steps up and yanks down their hood. Malfoy, with gray orbs like silver mercury glimmer in the dark, that pale hair and face almost glowing under the green light. There is something almost ethereal about the blond.

"Thought you'd never show up, Potter." Draco grins easily at the other.

Biting the inside of his cheek, Harry squashes useless thoughts that have no reason to be flitting around his head at this moment. He nods in acknowledgment.

_'Focus. Use the benefits his position guarantees and move on!'_

Malfoy swings around to address his peers, "Everyone of relevance or importance has gathered here tonight to send off one of our own on an expedition that will raise his status in our ranks. If he _succeeds_ then there are no doubts that he is one of us and deserves the respect that wearing Salazar Slytherin's colors provides. If he _fails_ then his place is in question... he will be an outcast among us, until such a time he is allowed to prove himself again."

Murmurs sweep along the rows as the First Year Slytherin's whisper about Harry Potter's fate.

A wave of apprehension shudders through Harry as the weight of magic in the air settles around them. He swallows thickly and trains his eyes back on the blond as the boy steps up to him.

"As the Patron to this _Passage into Prestige_, I offer my support whether he passes or fails." Hand out, Draco grips the raven-haired male's palm tightly and pulls him forward with a harsh whisper, "Do _try_ not to make me look like a fool!"

Harry's eyes narrow and he lets out a low hiss of understanding.

"The neutral ground is held. Who has chosen to be Harry Potter's Ally?"

A second hooded figure approaches to take Malfoy's right side. Blaise Zabini reaches through the space to Harry, "I stand with you for this Task."

Their hands clasp and Harry blinks as the Italian speaks quietly.

"But if you fail, I will not support you again."

He only stares bewildered as the boy glides away. The first traces of doubt are beginning to tingle in the crevasses of his mind.

"The positive ground is held. Who has chosen to be Harry Potter's Enemy?"

The last and third individual sidles up on Malfoy's left side. Pansy Parkinson sneers as she flops her hood down, raising her hand for Harry to take, "I stand against you for this Task."

Gritting his teeth in annoyance, Harry takes her hand and bends his waist, kissing the top of it. He feels wretched even though formality demands him to treat the awful girl with esteem just for the blood running through her veins. On the way up their eyes lock. Parkinson's face splits into a wicked grin, something sinister twinkling in her eyes.

"Don't get too settled on an easy win darling. You never know what's _going_ to happen."

"Is that a threat?"

"It's a promise." She winks and then slinks off to mirror Zabini beside Malfoy.

The niggling feeling in his subconscious expands with increasing dread. He knows for sure that Parkinson has altered the Task already, he will have to stay on guard and ready for anything now. With a sour frown, Harry straightens his spine and forces his attention on the blond youth.

"The negative ground is held. All witnesses have been chosen and agreed upon throughout the ceremony. Now begins your Task, Harry James Potter."

Silence reigns and Harry waits for a heartbeat before fidgeting in anticipation and uncertainty as he watches the Slytherin Prince dig in a pocket.

With a flourish, Draco whips out a long green ribbon. The boy holds it high above his head for the others to see. "A Hunt! There are three ribbons hidden on Hogwarts grounds, one from myself, one from Zabini, and the last from Parkinson. Each ribbon has a hint that will lead you to the next one. You must find them all and bring them back before First Bell for classes. If you cannot find them by then, you fail. If you are caught, you fail. If you receive help, you fail. Do you accept these terms?"

Arm outstretched, Harry takes the starting ribbon from the dramatic male, his eyes blazing with purpose. "I do."

A faint s_nap_ occurs on the outside of their conscious, where the swirling magic falls into place and the Task is accepted. Potter is bound by magic now and must use time to its full advantage. Draco Malfoy nods to the frail boy as the passage leading out of the Slytherin Dungeon opens.

Harry Potter, his childhood celebrity Hero is in the mercy of his hands. Never has Draco thought that _the_ Harry Potter is tantalizingly dark _and_ unfortunately weak. He should be ignoring the dying boy like everyone else, but how can he? There is something about the quiet gloomy boy that many can't see yet. Reminding him even of his godfather, Snape. Something hidden has yet to burst forth in that skinny frame. Draco is sure that soon, very soon, Potter will come into his own power and when he does, the Malfoy heir has decided to be on _that _side. Besides, he had idolized the other since he was a child... Harry Potter the babe who defeated the Dark Lord. In turn destroyed his father's dreams of Death Eater servitude, guaranteeing Draco a life of freedom away from pain and despair only for his Hero to grow up with both. If there's anything the blond can do for the other in a silent 'thank you', it's helping the Potter heir to fit in.

Glancing back at the group, Harry steels his nerves and leaves them behind as he enters the halls of the sleeping school. The stone wall groans closed behind him and he is now standing alone.

The air is chilly and damp, a pale light seeps through the halls from some distant source. Harry looks down at the ribbon in his hands. White curving words appear, the first hint:

_This is where I observe. This is where I eat. This is where I sit above and watch you from my seat._

_'There's only one place everyone eats. I'll start my search there.' _

Harry shoves the ribbon inside his school uniform and tugs out the Invisibility Cloak, wrapping it around himself in a fluid motion. His form disappears from view and he sets off at a brisk pace towards the Great Hall.

Maybe it's coincidence or just pure luck, but nothing strange or irregular crosses the twisting path on the way there. The halls remain quiet, paintings wheezing in slumber and the dust continues to swirl in odd patterns under the moonlight streaming in from slender windows. A scent of lamp oil and marble polish is strong, as if the lower surfaces have been wiped in the short amount of time that students have bedded down. Hogwarts is simply too large to clean every nook and cranny, so it's understandable that most unused rooms or the top levels might be overlooked.

For a moment Harry wonders who does the cleaning... surely that degrading Mr. Filch doesn't? The sour man unable to use even an ounce of magic, only seems to be more of a nuisance to everyone than anything. On that thought, Harry peers both ways in front of the Great Hall doors, hoping that the aging squib isn't stalking the halls on this level. He'll have to make this quick.

Ducking into the large hall, Harry stands rooted to the spot. Deep inside his chest, a tingling begins as he roves his eyes over the empty benches and tables. Walking further in, he twirls around and the sensation rises, causing a smile to tug at his lips. Only a second later he realizes that he feels _powerful_. In a place that is normally bustling with life and students is completely silent and for now completely _his, _to do as he pleases with. Intoxicated, Harry reads the ribbon again. Green irises immediately jump to the faculty table sitting on a raised tier.

_'That has to be it.'_

Hurrying across the hall, the youth takes the step up and ducks underneath the table searching for the ribbon. He starts at the Headmaster's seat. Nothing. Harry checks the next one down, but still no ribbon. The flash of green catches his sight on the other end and he crawls towards it, trying not to accidentally let his Invisibility Cloak slip off. Dangling from under a seat is his prize. In the back of his mind, the raven-haired boy notes that it's tied to Professor Snape's chair.

_'Hilarious.'_

He reaches out and unties it, his arm exposed when a high squeak startles him. Head jerking to the side, two large eyes blink back which startle him.

"House Elf!" Harry hits his head and tumbles out from under the table, the cloak slipping away as he scrambles to stand.

The surprised creature points an accusing finger at him. "It be a student outta bed!"

"Shush!" He lunges forward to grab the elf, but the thing jumps aside wicked fast.

"Student! Student out of bed!" It shouts and turns, running down past the tables and out the door.

"Blood and Bones!" The young Slytherin hisses.

He looks around on the floor, but the Invisibility Cloak can't be seen! Quickly, having to leave behind the most valuable of his prized belongings, he dashed through the hall and into the large foyer. He can hear the echoing footsteps from the lower floor coming closer. No doubt that elf has alerted Filch and the man is now on the way. Heart slamming in his chest, Harry runs to the stairs and climbs them two at a time.

"Where? Where's the student?!" Filch appears from below, sliding on the marble floor with great gusto. There's a lopsided grin on his face as his beady eyes glare too and fro. One of the House Elves from the kitchen had spotted a student and he is going to catch them! Finally catch one of the rotten children! With a grunt the man takes off again towards the Great Hall...

On the banister, Harry watches through the bars as Filch sprints the opposite way. Slowly, Harry stands and tip-toes up the staircase. He wobbles violently as the stairs change direction, moving higher and letting him off on the sixth floor. In the shadows of an alcove, he curses to himself for having lost the cloak so soon. Hopefully, towards the end of his search he can go back and retrieve it before morning.

With a sigh, the young boy holds up the second ribbon to read the next riddle:

_I shield, I protect, I defend, yet I am hollow inside._

Blinking in confusion, the Potter heir tumbles the words around in his head. Nothing enlightening pops up. With his adrenaline draining and the dreaded weakness sapping his strength, he slumps against the wall and stares ahead of him.

_'Shield, protect, defend... but hollow?'_

Across from him, Harry stares at his own reflection in the polished armor of a knight. The scrunched wrinkles slip away as both eyebrows climb high into dark strands. It finally sinks in and the boy grins with a sudden chirp, "Aha!"

Rushing to the suit of armor, Harry inspects it thoroughly, but he doesn't find a ribbon. His smirk dies prematurely and he lets out a groan of irritation. "Of course it's easy to _guess _what it is! That jerk didn't say _where_ the ribbon's located."

Now he'll have to scour the whole school checking each and every knight he comes across. Did he even have time for that? Then there's the issue with Filch hunting for him as well, while he stands around without a cloak on. Harry smothers his face in both hands.

_'I'll just have to check the upper levels first and then head down one floor at a time...'_

"Right." The ambitious Slytherin shoves the ribbons back in his robes and yanks out a two-way mirror given to him by his godfather. The mirror is initially created so he can communicate with the one his father owns. There's no way he'd try to get a hold of his father right now, but he needs a way to traverse the halls without detection. Since his cloak is gone for the moment he'll have to use the mirror.

Stealthily, Harry travels along the sixth floor corridors using the mirror around corners. He ends up bolting past the Gargoyle leading up to the Headmaster's office. It's at the end of this hall, by a statue of a ridiculously dressed wizard, is another staircase leading the raven-haired boy to the seventh floor. This place is even darker than the others as it curves around a corner and disappears into blackness. Inching along, eyes and ears alert, body trembling with frailty running only on adrenaline, Harry takes careful steps.

He almost jumps out of his skin when several snorts issue from a painting just ahead of him. As he passes, Harry peers at a gaggle of trolls snoring on a floor littered with musical instruments in their beefy arms. A strange sight to behold.

There, almost towards the darkest end of the corridor is a kneeling knight with a ribbon tied to the hilt of it's sword. With a wave of excitement, the grinning male jogs up to it with quivering legs. Hand seizing the piece of silk, green orbs glimmer in barely contained joy, until he sees the hint left behind:

_Meow..._

Nothing more, nothing less. Realization dawns on him.

_'Parkinson! That little wench!'_

The witch diffidently has it out for him. There's only one cat that is famous and vicious enough to guarantee that Harry will get caught and get into trouble. Filch's cat, Mrs. Norris.

"Shit!"

"Shit indeed, Potter." A female voice proclaims, delicate hand falling on his shoulder.

His heart leaps into his throat and he turns around with a swallow, "F-Farley!"

Gemma Farley, the Slytherin Prefect with hazel eyes, grins down at Potter. "I heard from a little birdy that there would be someone wandering this floor after curfew." A sneer lifts the sides of her lips as she begins to drag him by the collar. "Let's go see what Professor Snape has to say about this..."

It's just instincts really. He sees Professor Snape as a role model... seriously! But uh... that doesn't mean he wants to be in deeper waters with the _Dungeon Bat_. So when Farley speaks his name, Harry's fight-or-flight instincts kick in.

"Hey! Get back here this instant!"

The short boy is rushing down the corridor towards the corner when the most peculiar thing happens-

His robes catch on a handle.

Normally this isn't so shocking since he is a klutz, but this isn't simply a random event. His robes catch on a handle to a door that magically appears from nowhere. The suddenness of it jerks him clean off both feet and slams him onto the floor. The back of his skull smacks soundly against the stone, sending a spark of pleasure racing throughout his body. A gasp falls from his lips, but he doesn't have time to enjoy the pounding bliss. He's being pursued. Fumbling to stand, he tries to rip his expensive robes from the handle. The robe is torn and wrapped up badly...

Just then, the sound of Filch's voice echoes from the staircase.

"Who's there?!"

Panicking, Harry jerks the robes off his shoulders.

The door opens...

On his left Farley is approaching fast, on his right Filch is also apprehending him.

Harry makes a millisecond decision and dives through the door... only to tumble down a flight of stairs. Head ducked between his hands, the boy grunts as he topples over the hard edges of the steps, phantom spikes of pleasure telling him he'll have a dozen or so bruises. He comes to a complete stop just as the older girl stumbles inside, catching herself on the first step. The annoyed look on her face is cut off as the door slips shut behind her. Everything goes dark.

_Click._

"What the..." Gemma mutters, palming the handle to the door. Nothing happens and then the knob disappears entirely from her hand. Cursing, she pulls out her wand and tries _Alohamora _with no effect.

Loud banging rises on the other side, the muffled sounds of Filch yelling things sounding close to: _expelled when I catch you!_

Harry's breathing is heavy. The euphoria dissipates, but there is something dull pulsing in the back of his brain. An invisible string is tugging at him, trying to pull him down the next set of stairs.

A faint _L__umos_ is cast and Farley shifts above on both feet. She eyes him wearily and comes stomping downward with a nasty frown on her face. "I'm not sure how this happened, but you're not to leave my side until I pass you off to our Head of House."

He tries to ignore his quivering insides.

_'I got caught, but that doesn't mean I can't get away. She won't be able to prove she caught me unless she successfully drags me to the Dungeon Bat.'_

Just then though, his hand lands on something awkward jabbing his side. He touches it carefully and sucks in a breath. "My wand!"

Sure enough the piece of wood is snapped, the Dragon Heartstring still attached from the dangling end.

Gemma lets out a long hiss of sympathy. To get caught in the halls after curfew is devastating to any First Year, to loose your wand too on the same night? She sighs and hunches down to take a closer look. "It's still attached. There's still hope to get it fixed, but for now let me put a Stasis Charm on it so it won't fall off.

Harry can only gaze through the lopsided glasses as tears begin to build up in his eyes. He swallows several times and lets out a watery whimper. In that moment he doesn't care if the Prefect feels sorry for him and is helping only out of pity. His wand... _his_ wand. The only thing that ever truly belonged to him is now broken.

Farley's spell stabilizes the damage and with a last idea she transfigures the wand into a ring. Watching as the boy slips it on a finger, she tries to give him a reassuring smile. The kid ignores her. With a huff, the older Slytherin stands and pulls the boy up with her. "You have awful luck, Potter. Let's find our way out of here and I'll pretend I didn't see you tonight."

He can't even nod in agreement as they start down the stairs. Harry shivers without the warmth of his robes.

_'My robes! No, no, no! My mirror! … Oh Blood and Bones, the ribbons!' _

His robes are no doubt on the way to Filch's office.

Harry gripes his hair tightly, following after Farley as she descends the stairs. It can't end like this, he _has_ to find a way out and get his things back! There isn't much time left until the sun starts to rise.

The two Slytherin's find themselves flummoxed as they come to another landing... and _another_ set of stairs. Then after that, it repeats, going deeper and deeper down. A single lighting charm bobs above their heads as they both tread deeper into the earth, far below the levels that the castle can go.

If it's not for his frantic mind set on getting his things back, Harry might recognize the foreboding nature of his descent. His thoughts are elsewhere though, as he mechanically rubs the sensation building at the front of his head where the legendary scar sits.

Finally, the steps end.

Standing in a small cavern, they walk timidly inside. The witch doubles her charm and the space yawns high up, like a pit in the sky that can suck them upward into a beasts belly. Together they shiver and move along the short natural pathway. On the opposite end of the dripping space, where stalactites and stalagmites have formed monstrous shapes, they find themselves at a circular stone portal. A language, old and Celtic is scrawled across a beam resting above the massive door.

Gemma runs her eyes over the structure that seems solid and unmovable for probably thousands of years. "I don't think this is going to be a way out..."

Harry stands utterly still.

Letting out an annoyed grunt, Gemma turns to make her way back across the area. She stops short and turns with a frown when she realizes that she's not be accompanied. "Potter?"

No response.

The young male is standing there facing the sealed portal, body motionless and eerily silent. _"Po-"_

"Can you hear it?" Harry whispers.

"What?" Gemma grind out in confusion and a bit of fear for the darkness and unknown crawling closer. She listens, but hears nothing besides their own shaky breathing.

A tremble in his voice, "It's _teeth_..."

She has no idea what he is talking about, and it doesn't matter. If they can't get out this way they'll need to go back and try beating on the wall. Maybe Filch would show back up and they'd figure a way out.

"It's _clacking_ its teeth together..."

* * *

**Chapter End. **


	6. lull

**Chapter Warnings: gory, disturbing theme**

* * *

**Lull**

* * *

He can't describe what he's feeling. Something overpowering and vast, terrible and mysterious. It's presence weighing him down on already shuddering knees.

_Clack, clack, clack, clack, clack, clack, clack, clack, clack!_

Harry gasps aloud as the sound of teeth snapping together rushes at him. He twirls, ripping himself out of Farley's hand and falls onto his back. Kicking both feet, the frantic male scrambles over the moist ground. The skin on his palms tear from sharp rocks, causing him to slip onto an elbow. Heart thundering wildly, he glances down to see his blood smeared on the menacing shards.

The noise suddenly stops.

Prefect Farley has her wand raised up, the charmed light bobbing behind her back is still bright and a _Lumos _shines at the tip of her medium. She's standing above with a frown on her face and worry lines crinkling her forehead. "What is it, Potter?"

"Y-you didn't hear that?"

"I didn't hear anything." The older Slytherin grumbles. If it's any other kid, she'd be sure that the brat is trying to scare her, but this is shy quiet Potter who doesn't bother playing pranks. With the strange crawling feeling inching across her skin and darkness leaning on them, the boy's reaction only frightens her more. She wants to be _out_ of this cave as soon as possible, so she reaches and helps pull the other to shaky legs. "Let's get out of-"

Her voice is lost under the deep grinding of stone against stone, filling up the place and echoing off the formations. The ground below them vibrates and they turn as one to watch as the circular portal rolls in place. Carved pieces rotate and slide through a series of patterns not unlike an endless maze, the center indenting as the parts feed into itself, until the other side beginnings to be revealed. The gaping hole grows larger and larger as the stone works into the spinning circular frame, and then, that too works into the sides of the wall. Above, the Celtic symbols flare to life as if in warning, the faint yellow glow falling over the two students.

Darkness.

Yet... it's not just darkness in there is it? There's a flickering light from a possible fire within, and if you squint against the brightness of the charm, then one could make out a room beyond. There are things, still and lifeless, but with questionable shapes that make Harry shudder. Gemma though, is curious... uncharacteristically curious. There isn't the odd 'teeth' her companion had said there is. It's more like... like... like someone humming.

"Is that my mum?" Gemma breaks the silence. An odd look morphs onto her face. One of confusion and intrigue. She can hear the sound of her mother humming that usual tune only used for when prepping dinner. A smell then blossoms from nowhere, of a warm cooking hearth and feathered blankets. The smell of _home_. Senses altering, the sight before her changes into the side of a small cottage among the hills of Wales, with a thatched roof and hanging vines. The front door is open and there's a light on somewhere within. Her face smooths over and she nods in confirmation to herself, she takes a step and calls out "Mum?!"

Harry's stumbles in surprise when Prefect suddenly moves past him walking _towards_ the portal. "W-wait. What are you doing? Prefect Farley, shouldn't we just go back the other way?"

"No, no, stop worrying and come inside, Potter. Don't be so shy, mother's in the kitchen and she's always wanting to meet students from school. She says I need more friends. It's tea time isn't it? She makes the best Shepard's Pie." There's a smile gracing her face. Pure and serene.

Coming to a complete halt at the entrance to the unknown, Harry lets out a frustrated whine as the girl steps into the room and walks away from him. His breathing escalates as he watches her make a path through the space. A feeling of desperation scratches inside his chest. "Farley! Your mother's not in there dammit! What's wrong with you? It could be dangerous! We need to leave!"

The girl ignores him, or maybe she simply can't hear him as she treks farther from the youth's spot. At some point she turns a corner within and disappears, the orb of light following after.

Nerves on edge, Harry peers into the area. Only the soft glow of the words above the entrance letting his eyes adjust. The distorted shapes he made out earlier are lonely pieces of furniture. An ancient looking sofa bends in the middle, fabric deteriorated. There's a chair with a broken leg by a table on its side. Two more lower seats rest silently by an alcove and a single chaise lounge is situated by what looks to be a smashed piano. A sitting room or office perhaps? Dust permeates the air, and covers the room's surfaces along with scattered papers and shattered objects, which have fallen from aged shelving along the walls. The only signs of recent life are Gemma Farley's footprints across the floor. Hesitantly, he steps inside.

A gust of warm air sweeps by, sending up a wave of dust and fluttering the papers. Harry swears if it's not a room, then it can be a mouth, breathing and living. Coughing as the tiny particles settle again, he jerks a look over his shoulder as if expecting the stone to seal back up.

Nothing happens.

His hackles rise regardless. In his peripheral, where the frame to his glasses cut off, there's a dark figure against the back corner. Harry slowly turns his body, eyes wide and fingers clutching the transfigured ring on his finger.

_'What good would it do now?'_

He's defenseless, the wand broken and unless now. Still he faces the shadow, only to let out a whooshing breath as he glares at a curtain hanging in the corner. The dark fabric is only one end to a massive mural on the back wall with its sister curtain still covering half of the paint and _'fresco', _Harry's mind supplies him. Cautiously, the boy takes another few steps into the room. Eyes glance fervently to the portal. The raven-haired youth decides that if it _does _try to shut, than he can be ready to bolt.

_'I'd be leaving Farley behind though.'_

The Potter heir shakes his head from accusing thoughts, because now he's standing before a piece of art he can't help but admire.

It's a scene of a massive ballroom, larger and much more impressive than Hogwart's Hall. With the way the design in the arches and columns are, Harry takes a guess that this must be a real place in Italy or Prague. There are hundreds of people painted within the space, not moving like wizarding portraits, but still fascinatingly detailed. The party's attendants are wearing all sorts of outfits over the span of generations, as if this is just one massive ball to celebrate mankind's style since the beginning. There are a few men and women dressed in little more than peasant rags, several different types of respectable soldiers that carry their swords, but the majority of the guests are styled in the various years of the Renaissance period.

Harry's fingers touch a pale blue dress, frilled and exquisite on a lady in conversation. Even though the unknown girl's bodice and puffed outfit is outdated now, it's one of the more recent ones in the mural. Then he notices something else, not a single occupant of the painting is made to look out to the viewer, in fact not a single figure looks happy at all. They appear caught in whispers, or arguments. Even one robust woman, that Harry had thought to be singing, is actually screaming.

The boy is confused... he finds himself pushing the curtain to the other side of the corner. More and more frowning or fearful faces in beautiful clothing with equally attractive features appear. Then he stops, lungs breathless as his eyes fall upon a single person parted from the crowd and standing on a terrace in the left corner. This individual is different from all the rest, no doubt, but is it because of the more modern style of clothing? Or the predator like posture leaning over the little balcony to observe the mass of people below? Maybe it's the fact those hardened blue orbs are the only ones peering back out of oil. Staring at Harry mockingly and looking for all the world as if knowing a secret no one else will ever know.

"Ra_aaggghhhh!_"

The sudden scream ignites some part of him to awaken. A side that seems almost giddy and Harry pushes it aside, because he can't focus on something like that when his own fear is climbing. "Farley?! Are you okay?"

There's a choking sound from deeper within and Harry uses a burst of speed to dash to the exit where she passed through. A wave of dizziness makes him collapse against a bookshelf close by. The hairs on his neck are standing on end as he gathers himself and moves further inside. His framed eyes dance across a path of chiseled stone. He realizes that whoever built the room behind him, didn't bother to do anything more than dig a way straight into the rock's surface. Where could this tunnel possibly lead? The passage cuts sharply to the left, earth slopping downward slightly. There's another turn ahead where a stronger light is cast and Harry can tell there must be a fire of some sort. A faint gurgling reaches his ears, of Farley sobbing.

Gulping, the male advances until he can peek around the next corner. Another chamber lies beyond, too large to try and look into the endless darkness, yet there are two torches blazing at the end of the crude corridor. The Prefect is on her knees facing away from him. Huddled and trembling. "Farley?"

She doesn't respond and it takes the shorter student a full minute to decide that he should do everything he can to drag the other girl out of this strange place. The boy enters and immediately freezes as his shoes shift into the unexpected flooring with a _crunch_. Harry's face drains of color. He stares at the ground littered in heaps of bones with a building sort of fear. It doubles as his eyes track the expanse of silent skeletons, it triples as green irises rise into the endless darkness, it quadruples as shocked orbs reach the vaulted ceilings held up by stylized columns.

There are many different forms of fear; there's the quick and hot kind that lances through your body, the second tends to be a swallowing deep sort, and then the final one is a realization of something so horrendous that's always been there lurking by your side... that same fear that existed since the day you were born. An all consuming fright that drives people mad from things they shouldn't know.

If it isn't for his _condition_. For being stalked and haunted by that same monstrous feeling every night as he lay awake, Harry's sure he'd be huddled and crying on a carpet of bones as well. Instead, something bubbles out of his throat and before he can stop himself-

"H-eh, heh, hahahahaaaaah!" His fingers curl into his hair, grasping as he's laughing aloud into the immense ballroom. He'd been wrong! It wasn't Italy or Prague, or even Florence or Greece. It's here! The scene is here! With all the people dressed in their pretty clothing, littering the once gleaming marble with their corpses. The males head bends back as his laugh turns to a howl, and his eyes catch sight of the terrace above to the left. In that brief second, he's sure that the same smoldering gaze of blue-gray pierces him. No one is there though. Only him and Farley exist, living and breathing among the voiceless dead.

For a long moment, Harry stands gripping black locks until his arms grow tired and fall aimless to his sides. His head lowers too and stares at the Prefect's back. An empty state has taken over him, his feelings shot and mind closing everything off in an attempt to keep from loosing himself in madness. Now that he can think clearer, looking past the bones that safeguard some enormous secret kept below the foundation of Hogwarts, his senses come back to him. A scent... something mouthwatering.

_'Since when have I smelt anything tasty before?'_

He can't distinguish what it is exactly. It's sweet, but dark. It's rich, but bitter. Appetizing, delicious, inviting, tantalizing,_ succulent_...

Harry shakes his head forcefully and balances his way on the brittle bodies as he takes hold of the girl. The smell is strongest here. In whatever trance she had been in, it breaks. Her head turns to him with watery eyes, a look of pure horror that doesn't reach her mouth. _Can't _reach her mouth, because her jaw is detached as if something had ripped it from Farley's face. The upper lip down is a gory mess of meat and blood that covers the front of school robes. The torn flesh hangs. Her tongue flaps.

His own mouth opens as if to shout aloud, but nothing comes out. His mouth snaps shut. In his mind, he's frantic and howling, tearing and clawing at himself. Harry's subconscious rises up and latches onto that screaming form of himself and drags it somewhere to lock it away. Hand slipping from her shoulder he steps back.

She reaches a trembling arm to him. Pleading.

He turns away.

The Prefect chokes, exposed throat muscles quivering. What's happening? She wants to ask... Why does it hurt?

The boy takes off.

Her mother wasn't in the kitchen. Instead, there had been someone else. A strange man waiting for her. He'd said her mother wanted to see her and Farley was confused, because hadn't mum died last year? She's sure the vacation cottage had collapsed in during a storm when Farley was still in school. She never got to say goodbye... The handsome man had smiled at her when she confessed; told him that she'd yell at her own mother before she left from Yule break. She'd wanted the woman to stop asking about friends that she pretended to have, or boyfriends she made up. She finally told her mother that no one liked her and she didn't need anyone! Didn't need friends! Didn't need a mother! The man had smiled, he even wiped away a tear, but... Why does it _hurt?_

Harry is running. Mind blank, body alive, heart thundering. Running up the carved path and back towards the first room. Maybe he should be taking Gemma Farley with him... maybe, maybe, _maybe_! But he _can't_! He isn't running from the room, not from whatever did that, not even from her... he's running from _himself_. Because in that moment when she had turned and he saw her horrifying mutilated face, the first thought in his head wasn't to help her.

Appetizing, delicious-

His instincts are telling him to eat her.

-inviting, tantalizing...

"No! No, no, no, no!"

-_succulent._

He trips over a rug before he can reach the circular portal. Thick glasses in their wiry frame come loose from his ears and fly off. They clatter away as his body makes impact. An audible snap follows. There's the signs of pleasant sensations traveling up his ankle and even without his glasses, Harry knows the bone is broken. The male cries out in the blurry world surrounding him.

The furniture looms with their strange angles and the curtains sway. There's the fuzzy image of a figure standing in the corner again and Harry's fingers are searching frantically for his glasses. Something had gotten to Farley. Is it already here? In the same room as him?

Then a sound stirs the very air. A petrifying noise that makes him look upward with denial and desperation. Through his horrible sight, Harry watches as the portal _closes._

* * *

**End Chapter.**


	7. flesh

**Chapter Warnings: cannibalism, character death, gore-ish, disturbing theme**

* * *

**Flesh**

* * *

The grinding of stone against stone finishes it's completion, throwing Harry in a state of fanatic uncertainty. His body stills and breathing halts. Very faintly, the glimmer of torch lights back in the ballroom seeps in, but the majority of the room is one of darkness. Remaining silent, he sweeps blind eyes over the floor ahead of him.

That shadowy figure, once thought to be just the curtain, detaches itself from the corner.

Slow, measured footsteps urge Harry on with rising fright. He palms the glasses as the underside of a leather sole smashes on the back of his wrist. Panic, pure panic. Escape is lost, he's been caught! The lenses shatter into his hand and the flood of pleasure rushes through him. Afraid and desperate he lets out a cry.

_'I don't want to die!'_

His throat vibrates with two separate pitches, a feat he's only done once before as a child in distress. The shoe halts its grinding with a pause. He chokes on dust and the wail dissipates into a coughing fit. There's a moment of hesitation above him until the Prefect's attacker recedes. Harry trembles in place.

_'Is this it? Am I going to be ripped to pieces like Farley?'_

The low cramp in his stomach rumbles in hunger. The phantom scent lingering in his mind. He flinches when a strange hollow noise begins to ascend around him, like a deep bell intoning horrible things to come. Harry presses himself to the ground in fear as the chuckling grows quieter. Similar to before, there's a dull throbbing in the forefront of his head, pounding slowly and surely as if someone were knocking on a door, demanding to be let in...

"How _interesting_." A dark tone drawls, long unused. "Here I believed that a feast has brought itself to me. Instead, I have a dinner guest."

He keeps his mouth shut and remains quiet, but that doesn't seem to pacify his tormentor. A strong, bony hand grips the back of the youth's shirt and flips him over with the flick of a wrist. Harry sprawls onto his back, and he tries to sit up as his instincts scream at him. Instantly, he's crowded by the larger presence. Skeletal fingers, not unlike his own, seize the crown of Harry's head and tugs. "D-Don't!"

The boy tries to push back against the blurry aggressor, but it's equivalent to pushing against a solid wall. Locks of hair are pushed aside, exposing the scar left behind years ago and the raven-haired male gasps as warm lips rest against the lightning bolt. In the recesses of his mind, that door is blown off it's hinges. A flood of alien intent staining everything it touches. The throbbing explodes like a fiery light, something he's never felt, _never_ expected to feel! Pain. Real pain. Blazing, terrible pain that scorches a path through his body. The Potter heir is barely aware that he's screaming now, withering in a grip that pulls the scrawny child to a solid frame. A piece of himself inside is snuffed out, a dark shadow fitting in that portion like a puzzle completing itself. Then the pain stops abruptly and the student sags into the other's hold. The fuel of determination is now spent and weakness settles in.

He huffs as his heart begins to slow. Liquid drips over the crest of his eyebrow, down into the folds of one eye. He knows it's blood, the scar is bleeding like it was last night. The male lets out a whimper from the pain. Is that what is feels like to be hurt? His lungs quicken in terror. Will he feel pain like that again?

A soft whisper of a laugh and the stranger presses his lips lightly against the raw wound, sucking at the blood. "Harry _Potter."_

The boy shivers. No one's ever pronounced his name like that before. A mixture of burning hatred and deadly tenderness.

_'How does he even know my name?'_

There's a numbness settling into him, making the youth sluggish. He registers the assailant gathering him in both arms and rising from the floor. There was a time when he had been cradled like this before wasn't there? When he'd fallen asleep in the family room and would be carried promptly to bed... This isn't his father or Sirius though. "Am... am I... g-going to die?"

Amusement can be heard in that deeper baritone. "You are close."

They travel in a surreal silence, except for the foreboding footsteps as both males move through the passageway.

"If you had not come here... then you would have expired within the week, I calculate." The man says without much emotion, as if he's just stating simple facts with clinical detachment.

"Are you going to..." He fights the thickness in his mouth.

"Kill you?" The words supply and again the boy seems to amuse the mysterious man. "I am sure that, once upon a time ago, I wished your death with a fierceness. Throughout the passing centuries, I cannot deny that I have fantasied on it."

He can't keep up. What is this person talking about? Isn't he going to die? Did this man kill Farley? Is he next? Harry's so tired, so very _tired_.

"Now that you are here. I find that things are not as what I believed them to be. My vengeance has changed."

"I don't... understand."

"I am going to save you, Harry Potter. I am going to claim your life by keeping you alive."

That moment, they enter the ballroom once more and halt at the edge. Torches still flicker against the tunnel's end, they linger over Farley's form which is slumped upon the ancient carnage. Her dark blood seeps into the bones and glazed eyes peer up at the vaulted ceiling painted with a scenery of forgotten deities dinning on the miniature forms of humanoids.

"Who..."

"Don't tell me that you have forgotten who I am?" The deviant crouches onto a knee, keeping the boy in an arm while reaching out to jerk the girl's dying form closer to them. "It has been a _very _long time I suppose... for me that is. I was there on the night your mother blessed you."

Harry's eyebrows slowly crinkle in thought. It's hard to think when such a wonderful smell is beckoning him. His stomach twists and he shifts trying to see where exactly the _food_ is, but all his eyes can see are bleary shapes and darkness. There's a squelching and the scent doubles. He let's out a low groan.

"You must be hungry, yes? It's quite intriguing how curses and soul shards react to one another. Try this..."

Something moist is held before the youth. His lids flutter and mouth waters. That part of his mind, the squeamish babbling piece that would realize that this is odd or shouldn't be happening is quiet. The shadow is there though whispering, and now it keens within the layers of his mind. Urging and instinctual.

_'Food.'_

His teeth bite into the offering. The slick juices running down his throat as he chews mechanically on the thick substance. Almost instantly his hunger springs up, becoming unbearable and demanding as the wonderful portion is being devoured to slip into a shuddering stomach. There's something else too... his magic rises, lashing out in need to soak up the nutrients from the _proper_ meal. A tingly feeling makes his eyes itch uncomfortably. The world around him sharpens and comes into view.

Flesh... Farley's flesh. Maybe a bit from her cheek or neck is hovering before his face. His teeth marks clear and accusing where the meat was pulled from.

_'NO!'_

He yells and tries to jerk away, the flap of gore falling to the ground. The other wrestles him easily like a doll. An arm snakes around, adjusting his limbs to tuck into his sides, trapping him entirely. Green irises, almost glowing in the darkness can now see everything in terrifying clarity to a point even his broken glasses couldn't achieve. The dark gods above, clad in beautiful jewels and blossoming vines, smile delightfully as they hold silver spoons and golden goblets containing butchered bodies to their mouths. Farley's eyes are dead and milky, her corpse cooling into a pale coloring against the almost black blood from severed arteries.

A hand dives into his vision, powerful fingers clawing into the girl. With a snap of a collarbone, and a tug that rips it free, Harry stares morbidly transfixed at the slender bone covered in tendon and blood. It comes closer and he struggles.

"NO! No, No, No!"

There's a huff of breath at the boy's ear, irritated but ever so patient. The bloody bone passes out of the youth's sight and he can hear teeth shredding into it, followed by a pleased hum. Harry bends forward, trembling with the possessive appendage around him. He watches as that thin arm begins to gain substance with every slurp and chomp of the man who's _eating _Gemma Farley. Horrified, tears begin to fall freely from him.

"Are you not hungry any longer?"

Harry hangs helplessly, denying himself, pretending... It's just some awful nightmare is all, he'll awake in his room for sure. This can't be happening, it just can't!

"Do you wish to die?"

_'Never...'_

He stirs. Desperation ringing in his thundering heart and he gasps as another handful of raw meat approaches him. His senses zeroing in on it- appetizing, delicious, inviting, tantalizing, succulent... The male lunges, biting down and swallowing with vigor. That hand holding him in place strokes the side of his waist, where the hem of his shirt rides up. The fingertips smooth over his skin in a soft petting motion. The pads rubbing small circles as if to calm him. More tears spill from his eyes and Harry shudders violently as he's feeding off of a Slytherin peer.

Changing between filling his and the younger boy's stomachs, the man rips the fabric from the prey. Gutting the soft flesh is easy enough and very satisfying to the individual who passes chunks of organs to the little one trapped in his arms. In the torch light, if one were looking closely, they'd see the signs of sickness disappearing. The two gaunt males gain fuller features and healthier skin. Their muscles thicken to leanness as hair shines a more lustrous shade, until the girl's body is picked clean and all is left are slick bones to be left with the rest...

The being looks out across it's territory with a sense of completion and strength not felt for decades. His attention lowers to child, no _changling_... "This is a gift we share, _Harry_."

A heat fills the boy. Lulling and sated, calling the Potter heir into a land of sleepless dreams. His tears are long dry as his head falls back to rest against the crook of a warm neck. Limbs and chest tingle with a feather like tickle. The nerves in his ankle and hand send new information to his brain: healing and wholeness. To finally feel full for once in his life... His breathing evens out. "Who are you?"

Steely orbs of blue with flecked grey stare down into his own. That handsome face from the painting, real and breathing. Bloody lips peel back with a pointed smile. "You know who I am."

He's fighting himself to think. To grasp at thoughts and feelings that are drifting away. Who? Those mocking eyes watch as his own fall to seal shut. Everything simply fades.

* * *

**Chapter End.**


	8. dream

**Chapter Warnings: minor violence, twist**

* * *

**Dream**

* * *

The shadows churn and spiral into the chasm of darkness before him. A lull sweeps through heavy limbs. It caresses Harry's skin from the inside out. Rocking from left to right, then up and down, it slithers in long looping patterns like the soft waves lapping at a shore. He drifts in this state, hovering between thoughts and emotions that ravage his existence. What... why... _how? _

_**I don't want to answer all these pestering questions...**_

For a drawn out moment, Harry cannot respond to the voice. There's a delay in hearing that sarcastic tenor before his brain can focus and understand the meaning behind that sentence. It's as if a hazy barrier is filtering sensations at the wrong intervals. His senses are confused and muscles are to hard to move. Lips part as his tongue rolls around, forming a simple word that is lost in the void that cradles him. His ears don't catch the sound and he wonders if he said anything at all, but then it finally reaches him. 'Hello?'

Yet the voice doesn't answer. Nothing does. Nothing happens. The air doesn't shift, nor is there an occurrence of variable changes to his vision. It remains the endless unwavering space that stretches dauntingly.

Somewhere inside of him, a growing sense of fear begins to make itself known. A suffocating response to the realm and being trapped here. It claws within his ribs, scraping its way higher and higher towards an opening throat that screams aloud, muted by the darkscape.

_**Silence! **_

The anger behind that single word makes the youth's jaw snap shut and swallow painfully. Regardless of the hatred fueling the tone of the other, relief soothes his distress. He reaches out to the one who spoke, turning and leaning in the blackened world of floating essence. His fingers brush against a chilly surface and he draws back in surprise, half expecting not to find anything. A trap of some sort clamps down around his wrists and pulls him close. Harry screams again, this time the force behind the sound causes the reaction time to be instantaneous. Unfortunately, he's far too weak to escape the shackles, but he continues to struggle until his body becomes exhausted. Cold bands dig tighter into his skin with an icy burn. He's waiting for that part of his brain to channel the physical pain elsewhere, to hand it off for the sickening pleasure that should eventually tingle though his form... but it never comes.

His esophagus locks up with horror. The pleasure, where is it?! He would much rather have that than deal with pain!

The boy can feel the wetness of tears dripping down his cheeks as he hunches into himself, trying to protect the center of his vital points from harm. The manacles tug viciously at him and the voice is far closer than before, whispering with a fierce annoyance.

_**You're always crying. Always screaming. You don't do anything besides feel sorry for yourself. It's **_**disgusting****_._**

Harry realizes then that there aren't shackles around his wrists per say, but incredibly freezing hands with a powerful hold. As he slowly distinguishes the fingers wound about his bones and nails biting into his skin, something else bubbles in the cavity of Harry's chest; rage ignited by this stranger. Born from the truth of what the person is speaking and twisted by the ugliness used to say it. It hurts to hear such things. 'Who?'

_**Who?**_

The ire doubles with a mocking laugh. Harry flinches as those dark silken words cut him like knives.

_**Always asking questions. Never trying to figure it out yourself. You're lazy Potter, pure sloth. Do something for yourself and just **_**think****_._**

Harry can feel the shallow breaths leaving his body, the heat roils within him, building from an intense anger. Searching for help only to be ridiculed. There's no need for that. It's just plain rude. Nastiness even. Suddenly, he doesn't _care_ who this unknown individual might be or how he ended up in this place of darkness, only how he can escape. Trying to twist away, those fingernails only cut deeper into his wrists. 'Release me!'

A cold breath slides across Harry's cheek and his spine tenses. _**No.**_

Desperation uncoils and the youth reacts wildly, hissing and spitting in fright. 'Let go of me! Let go!'

Laughter only reaches his ears as the invisible foe torments him further, that amused voice seething above his own shouts. _**Is this all you can do? Scream and cry? Pathetic. You're pathetic Potter. I can't understand how you were able to defeat the greatest wizard in history! And I was the greatest! I was the going to purge this world of pathetic creatures like you!**_

The fear returns. It crashes down on the boy like a tsunami crushing everything in it's wake. He can feel the sudden lurch of his stomach and heart hammering in both ears as blood pounds through quivering veins.

_**You're nothing! And yet here I am, woken from slumber and trapped here with you. But not for long.**_

Pain flares up in Harry's arms, stabbing through the nerves that travel along his shoulders, seeping downward and upwards at the same time. He leans back with a shriek. He can't escape it though. The grip on him is absolute and where would he be able to run anyways? The freezing aura penetrates him, searing everything it touches.

Reacting on instinct, the Potter heir strikes. Not with hands or feet, but with his teeth. Sharp canines find purchase on pliant skin. His jaw locks down and he's rewarded with a high screech in return. Blood floods into his mouth, the liquid not tangy or thick, instead it's thin and sweet like a fruit's juice. It's different, it's strange, it's _wonderful._

The hands release him, but he doesn't notice until those iron appendages shove the raven-haired male free. A wet tearing of meat rips Harry off and stumbling backwards in the blackened realm. He swallows the cool texture, the lump of flesh passing through his throat and inducing the delightful and almost forgotten pleasure that races after the pain -which once tried to overcome him. It buzzes inside, sending euphoria that calms any fear. In many ways it impairs him though, for he flails his arms in search of the unseen one, wanting... 'M-more.'

A maddened hiss of rage rises in the darkness. It's Harry's only warning before a magical signature attacks him. The sudden burst of energy slams into him, exploding against his empowered body. The effect disperses harmlessly into pinpricks of light sizzling across his skin. The sparkling light dances off into the background, growing brighter and brighter. He can now make out a figure standing before him. A boy, the same height and age as himself, with deep chocolate hair framing a cherub face. Harry's always noticed the unfair beauty in others, and this person standing with confidence in naked splendor is certainly that. Blood trickles from the open wound on the curve of a slender shoulder. Those gray-slate eyes glare back with hostility.

_Voldemort..._

The answer hangs between their nude forms unspoken.

The truth sinks in. A name created to inspire fear, to control the world and bring those labeled unworthy to their knees. Instead of fear though, a sense of wonder comes over Harry. Voldemort, the Dark Lord who terrorized the Wizarding World. The one who killed his mother and whom Harry destroyed as a babe. Here the crazed sorcerer who courted monsters stands in the body of a boy.

More questions grow. Is this a dream? Just a figment of his imagination crafted from too much stress? If it is a dream how can he wake from this nightmare? His panting fills the air, and he naturally licks his lips in a nervous habit. A sticky substance tingles on the tip of his tongue and Harry lets out a low groan at the taste of it. Surely he's never tasted anything as good as...

Those gray orbs narrow and nostrils flare.

With that one look Harry deduces the sheer uneasiness shifting through the other. An uneasiness that comes to life in himself. For what could a monster possibly fear than another unpredictable monster? It's then that he understands what he did. He _ate _a piece of the male. Voldemort or not, he _devoured_ flesh and _loved _it, wanted _more..._

He steps back. The once darkness continues to brighten from grey to blinding white.

_**Don't think this is over, Potter! I will never continue to stop fighting for freedom. Never!**_

A flash of light overloads his senses, washing away the vision completely.

Harry falls, whirling and tumbling, landing upon an object that catches him.

Voices rise, jumbled and random words that scramble each other.

Eyelids flutter and green irises glow from between thick lashes. A familiar place comes into view, and without the help of glasses, Harry can see the notches and imperfections of the Infirmary's ceiling. Someone says his name and for a moment he believes it's the young personification of the one named Voldemort. Yet, when he turns to look into the flecked gray-blues, he finds himself swimming in the mercury orbs of another.

"M... Malfoy?"

A little smile is flashed his way, but the blond Slytherin turns to glance over a should with a frown.

Seeing the usually put-together Pureblood fidgeting in a seat, Harry starts to squirm in the bed. The warmth in his limbs cause them to be sluggish as he sits up. Figures move as sweeping shadows behind the curtains that are drawn aside and Harry knows then why Malfoy is unsettled. Their Head of House stands there, mouth downward and black pupils demanding answers already. Though, it's the Headmaster who holds an air of collected calm that makes Harry dread what's to come.

How did he even end up here in the Infirmary? He had been doing something else right? Wasn't he?

"Harry, thank Merlin you're alright." Dumbledore's voice is sincere, but it changes as the elderly man continues with a dreadful inquiry, "Where's Gemma Farley?"

* * *

**End Chapter.**


	9. enemy

**Thank you everyone for the reviews and love for this dark tale. It seems this story has taken a life of its own. More chapters are coming out and demanding to give you more than the bare minimum I had planned it to be. The first story in this series was supposed to be ten chapters... now... it's growing unexpectedly. So if you crave more, want more, need more... let me know. Remember you're not only showering me with your praise, but also showing your adoration for the personalities being crafted under my fingertips.**

**Also, are there any artists out there? Would it be fun to have fanart? ****Check out my profile -where you can also see this story's path. Now, on with the story shall we?**

**Chapter Warnings: minor violence, self-mutilation**

* * *

**Enemy**

* * *

He sits with his back straight, eyes trained at the far end of the Infirmary on a small and harmless crack above one of the windows. The sky is dark grey, a tint of ugly green to the thick clouds that flicker with lightening. A thunderstorm is approaching as the evening carries on. In the otherwise empty space, a different sort of silence has captured the motionless boy. Not the same nothingness from his previous nightmare, not consuming like that, but more of an absence of something...

Emerald irises recede into thin rings. Pupils grow to a unusual size, the black portals large and ominous. He continues to stare at that daunting crack that mirrors his own splitting soul.

_-Harry...-_

The Potter heir can't help but notice how incredibly bare Hogwarts' Infirmary is when there isn't the usual hustle and bustle of students milling about. All the curtains are pulled back and tied to the stone walls. Beds are made with crisp clean lines. The floors gleam from a coating of fresh wax. An overpowering scent of lemon disinfectant hangs in the air which mingles with the undertones of lilac sprayed linen.

So clean and perfect. Everything in their rightful order. Nothing out of place.

Except him...

_-Harry... please.-_

Fingers curl tightly, twisting the sheets. The flawless skin smooth and healthy as hands grope for a purchase in the bed covers. A ragged breath breaks free from him and eyes widen fractionally as his heart picks up speed.

Lightening flashes outside. Rain sprinkles against the glass panels and the clouds thicken. The natural battle of earth's elements of air and water continue. A similar war is raged beneath flesh and bone. Turmoil.

Determined, the youth stubbornly glares at the point on the far wall knowing full well he shouldn't be able to see without his glasses. Something isn't right. Questions are buoyed above the current of his quiet emotions. Those answers, he knows. He's sure he _knows._ Yet, to dive beneath the waters and search for them.

H-he...

_-Harry... please. Where's Gemma Farley?-_

He. Can't!

The scream that tears through the usually calm Infirmary, echoes off the vaulted ceiling. Madame Pomfrey shoots out of her seat in the small attached office. Gathering her skirts, the woman rushes into the hall where her only charge for the evening should be resting. Her orbs fall on the rigid form of young Potter, before she joins him at the bed. With her wand in hand she reaches out with the other, but the sudden physical contact upsets the child further.

Harry's wail turns into a shriek, reaching levels only an adolescent youth could hit. His limbs whip about, flailing as he throws himself back onto the bed. Features morph into a horrified expression. The boy withers on the mattress, ripping up the blankets and knocking the pillows to the floor.

"Potter!" The nurse weaves her wand. She tries to use a spell to determine the sort of seizure gripping the child, but then a chilling wave of terror runs down her spine when the young Slytherin turns on himself. Blood appears, teeth snapping and red smears across both arms.

The doors to the Infirmary open as two men enter, sharing a heated argument between them. Their conversation dies quickly as their attention snaps over to the disturbance.

Pomfrey's ashen face turns to them, grey hair askew and bloody streaks along her uniform. She's trying desperately to hold down a squirming form buckling with wild abandon. Her voice pierces through the ensnared duo. "Help me!"

The lull shatters and both males lunge forward across the room, boots pounding over the shining floor.

Crimson Auror robes sweep in as the taller man throws himself straight into the thick of things, using his body to push down the child. A howl of fury and fear, almost inhuman, causes him to flinch and bow a head of shaggy hair into the mattress. His stronger arms encircle the boy.

Professor Snape reaches the bed second, pulling back to cast his heavy gaze upon the situation with a detachment attained by hardened veterans. In a short slashing movement of his wrist, the wand unleashes a beam of pale light. Cloth bonds warp upward from the bed's frame and bind the student successfully.

Madame Pomfrey snatches up her wand from the floor and summons a Calming Draught. She has to push aside the Auror and get him to capture Potter's face as she administered the potion. There's an immediate effect.

The room's sound levels diminish into panting and gasps. Three pairs of eyes watch the steady rise and fall of the Slytherin's chest. Green orbs pin the ceiling with an emotionless stare.

The nurse uses a spell to coagulate the blood to stop the bleeding and slumps onto the chair stationed beside the bed.

"H-Harry?" A baritone voice calls out.

Nothing.

Handing the shaken woman a handkerchief, the Professor nudges the other man. "Move aside, Black."

A snarl leaves Sirius as he snaps at the other, "Stay back!"

Severus sneers in turn, wand hand itching to level a hex. Even his status as a renowned Potion Master and under Dumbledore's protection wouldn't stand up against Black's rank in the Ministry though. Pity, the man could use some sense forced _painfully_ into that unruly mane.

"Auror Black, please."

Bewildered, Sirius glances at the nurse. He notices the slight quiver to her bony hand holding the handkerchief to her mouth and the blood soaking into her white front. Swallowing, the man turns to look down at his godson. So young. So fragile. His hand moves to rest at the hot skin of the boy's forehead. Slick with sweat, the man's palm pushes wet strands up and away to search those unblinking orbs. It's unnatural. It's unnerving... the cupid face of porcelain smeared with blood. Why? "Harry?"

No answer.

This time Sirius steps back as his boyhood rival shoves him aside. He turns to the nurse, "What happened?"

"He..." She bows her head to steel her nerves. "He started screaming. I came in to find him... trying to tear the meat off his arms."

The crackling of thunder causes Sirius' muscles to contract. His jaw tightens as he looks to the boy. "Is this from his illness or... the reason why he's bedridden?"

"Did the Headmaster..."

"He didn't say anything. Just sent a formal letter that Harry was here."

"Where is his _father_?" Professor Snape's words cut into the conversation like a hot knife. Focused intently on diagnosing the reason for the sudden fit, his attention wavers dangerously to an old hate that's stayed with him since before graduation.

"James couldn't make it..." A scoff makes Sirius growl in ire. "I came in his stead. So what's going on? What's happened to my godson?"

Madame Pomfrey takes a deep breath. "This morning, two students came up missing at breakfast."

The Auror's eyebrows furrow. "Missing? Was one-"

"Yes, Harry Potter. Along with him, Gemma Farley, a Prefect disappeared." The Head of House grinds out. Irritated that he was given instructions to give the man such details. "As students to my House, I hunted the whole grounds along with the search party and was only able to find Mr. Potter."

"And the other student?" Fists clench and release as his instincts begin to kick in, telling him something wrong and sinister has happened. One can't blame the pessimistic side of oneself when it's born from training as an Auror.

"She wasn't found," The nurse fretted, "No one knows where she went."

"Wrong. There is one person who knows."

Realization dawns. "You mean, Harry?"

"Mr. Filch reported hearing two children out of bed and on the Seventh Floor before disappearing."

"You're going to believe that-"

"A student came forward to enlighten me on the subject. It seems Mr. Potter was in the process of House initiation."

Sirius makes a disgusted face. Slytherin traditions ruffle him the wrong way. Students wanting to put themselves through a form of hazing just to get a bit of notary. It pains him to know that Harry would _want _to go through something like that. "Who's this witness?"

The guarded man glowers back refusing to say Draco Malfoy's name. He moves on instead, "Miss Farley was out patrolling the halls."

"Did she do this?"

"Highly unlikely."

"Then who?" The demand bounces off the walls and escapes as one of the main doors open unnoticed by the others.

"An intruder."

The adults turn to witness the Headmaster entering.

Sirius is instantly alarmed, defenses rising into place. "An intruder? In Hogwarts?"

"Indeed." The ancient man in yellow custard robes glides to the group with purple shoes curled at the tips. Blue orbs land on the Potter heir and crinkle in sympathy. The Headmaster looks to the Professor with a questioning gaze.

"He's suffered an extreme anxiety attack. His brain activity is below normal levels."

"What?! Is he going to fall into a coma?"

"Calm yourself, Black."

"The mind is an interesting and delicate thing." Dumbledore sighs aloud. "But it's also very strong."

Snape scrutinizes the contradicting man for a moment, wondering if the bearded Headmaster knows something that's not being shared. He wouldn't put it past the elder. "It seems Potter's mind is trying to fill in the gaps of recent events. In _vain_, unfortunately."

"Why? What's _happening?!_" Sirius hisses in a fierce whisper.

"He's been Imperio'd."

The Auror sucks in a breath of surprise and whips around to confirm it with the Headmaster.

A look of pain crosses the man's face. "So it seems."

"Some of his memories are missing as well." Snape continues, ignoring the violent tremble rising in the Auror. "Basically the events of last night. We cannot bring them out of the boy without upsetting him further."

"Sirius..." Dumbledore rests a weary hand on the man's shoulder. "Please. We need someone to investigate into this situation."

"I-I understand." He takes a deep breath. _'Harry is okay. Harry is going to be fine.'_ "I'll do everything I can to catch this intruder."

"Discreetly, Sirius..." The Headmaster tightens his hold. "Gemma's Aunt and Uncle have been informed of her disappearance. I must meet with them soon, but for now we can't have this out."

"You should be sending the students home!" Madame Pomfrey stands from her chair, outraged.

"I agree." Is the Potion's Professor's only input.

"I understand your fears. Yet, if we were to evacuate now, that will only make our assailant retaliate with force."

"It's true..." Sirius adds. "If the student is being used as a captive, the intrude might... Dumbledore, do I have your permission to begin searching?"

"You do."

Hesitating, the Auror looks over his shoulder longingly at his godson. "When he's..."

"We'll send for you. There is already a request for Potter's personal Healer to arrive. Is Mr. Potter on the way?"

"Er, soon... He was caught up in a case."

Severus Snape folds his arms with a steady intake of breath, biting his tongue. There are many things he wishes to say, but the warning in the Headmaster's flickering orbs wards him off. He watches Sirius Black leave. The school nurse fidgets before clamoring away in the process of charting Potter's progress and lining up some potions for the boy to take, leaving him alone with Dumbledore.

"Severus..."

Knuckles whiten as his fingers grip his wand, the end tapping impatiently.

"I need you to keep a _very _close eye on him."

The tapping ceases as onyx irises search blue, Occlumency and Legilimency clashing. "You mean, Quirrell."

A slight nod of the head to the statement. Knowledge passes between them. The obvious threat in the form of a Professor, now though... there must be another passing along the halls. They will need to split their forces to catch both enemies in the act.

"Very well." Deep rage boils just under his skin. Voldemort. There could be no other intruder. Already sightings of the wraith has been seen drinking unicorn blood in the Forbidden Forest. Dumbledore has suspicions and so does Snape. How dare that monster touch Lily's child! The boundaries need to be properly set. Blackened robes billow like a great sail as Professor Snape moves out, jaw set and anger simmering in almost an identical version as Auror Black. Although, his sights are set on someone in particular, the sputtering fake Quirrell. Halloween is almost upon them and he's sure the Dark Lord's servant will make a move for the Philosopher's Stone. _'I hope that scum tries it.'_

Dumbledore stands as the center of Hogwarts core. The Light Lord, an unmoving stone of defense as thunder booms and lightening crackles above the school.

The game has begun: A Pawn has been taken off the table. A King was close to checkmate. Now both Knights move forward to take on the enemy's forces. What will be the next move? And why does he feel that Voldemort isn't the true foe sitting in the opponent's chair anymore?

The Headmaster's fingertips touches the end of Potter's bed. He had never spoken with the boy until that afternoon. The boy's broken father been adamant about staying away from the Order of the Phoenix after Lily's death. Sorrowfully, the elder feels for the Potter family. Torn apart and lost. Both males circling each other like distant stars set on a course of collision. From the outside looking in, he has been watching father and son dance a dangerous game of unspoken yearning and bitterness towards each other.

This child, cursed by the last known Dark Lord... Hurt. Angry. Starving. The similarities between Harry and Tom are far too similar for comfort. Surely the prophecy didn't mean for this? This is far too much for a boy to endure, Chosen One or not. _'Something has gone wrong...'_

"Harry... What will become of you?"

* * *

**End Chapter.**


	10. deosil

_**Okay... so you all must be hating me at this point. *Hands over a really long chapter... appeased?**_

**Welcome back to Dark Deity. I'd like to take a moment to celebrate it's 1st year anniversary. In July 2014 I never knew I'd still keep this story around or pushing out chapters, but low and behold it's survived. Thank you everyone who loves this fanfic and I hope to see another year go by with this story still under way. I never want it to end.**

**bwineylion is an artist who did a great drawing for this story! The link can be reached on my profile. Thank you so much bwineylion! If anyone else has drawings they'd like to contribute please send me the link or allow me to post it on my website (which can also be found in my profile).**

**Hunting for proof-readers for my other stories! Sometimes I can't catch all the spelling errors! I edit a lot, but things slip through the cracks. This story is far too late to get anyone, but how about Revival or the Rift Wars?**

**Anyways... enjoy.**

**Chapter Warnings: time fractures...**

* * *

**Deosil**

* * *

It lingers at the edge of thought and reason. Cloying and playful in its nature. A fading memory, a simple taste...

But oh, he would give anything for the explosion of those flavors to come back. To coat his tongue with the thick substance and smack his lips in satisfaction. Even now he can't exactly remember the full extent to that tastes' complexities. With each passing second it continues to drift from him. Deep down inside, that hollowness he has known for so long begins to ache and twist in longing for _more._ What can he do? Where to find the bliss again? The sensation of euphoria is lost.

Once again he is empty.

Once again he is **hungry**.

"-arry?"

The young brunette blinks several times as the room rights itself once more. Colors swirl and lights brighten as he falls back into himself. Harry can't help the frown tugging down at the sides of his mouth when he faces the man sitting across from him.

Doctor Surmon has been the boy's personal healer since he was a toddler. A man with many questionable awards and magical discoveries in the studies of Anatomy and Hybronomy*. With all his decorations, the intrusive man is considered the best in his field of work. The Lineage of Potter procured him with a healthy sum to tackle Harry's illness. In the beginning everyone had been hopeful as the child endured a grueling process of potion and charm testing -it all proved for naught. Surmon had brought in many groups of physicians and colleagues over the years for assistance, debate, and even analysis. Harry found out the hard way, sitting on a cold metal table at the age of nine, that he became nothing more than a case study. A rarity. No one in the history of magical medicine had come across his situation before. That gave them the chance to exploit their family. His own father allowed Surmon to do it, even if the elder tries to justify it for helping him.

Not only that, but it was during the experimental phase that Harry found the sickening realization that he didn't experience pain. He tested many vials that brought everything heaving back outward in horrible convulsions. Sometimes there was blood and stomach lining. Other moments his mouth had been burned through from too much use of a particular acid. These were just some of the tame things that he endured so far as the treatments got stranger and more unorthodox over the years. The nurses that took post under Surmon were always frightened and never stayed in service for long no matter how much the Potter's paid them.

Harry grew smart quickly and never revealed that pain takes him to a heightened pleasurable state. If he could have any sort of control from adults, then being able to hide his reactions serves as a power itself. Although, that doesn't mean he hasn't taken mental and emotion damage.

Horrid illusions stalk his wraith-like form. Shadows of unrecognizable forms dance at his peripheral and chase him throughout the halls of Hogwarts. The soft babbling voices that make no sense whisper in his ears. Heaps of seemingly inviting food at the tables turn to burning ashes or spoiling rot in his hands. Sometimes, he swears the serpent forms littering the castle would also hiss cruel secrets and cooing advice to him.

When he tries to explain himself, or even point out the utter wrongness -no one believes him. Or at least, no one tries to understand. They all just think he suffers these illusions brought about by the dark curse from He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

Sometimes the haunted Potter wishes that that man was still alive so he could ask; why? What has he ever done to deserve this? Why?!

"This is quite exciting news, Harry." Doctor Surmon pushes oval glasses back into place. A quill scratches fervently over a scroll's parchment. "Your health is finally taken a turn about!"

Still silent, the Slytherin tries not to let his eyes linger on the lanky wizard and that ridiculous mustache wiggling in time with each pronounced word. He keeps a blank mask on his own face, using it as a shield to put distance between himself and the other. The anger is starting to bleed through regardless of the attempts to stay calm. His knuckles are white as they dig into black robes, and color rises along the curve of his neck.

"Truly a miracle!" A shrewd look passes over the man's face as he eyes the boy up. "It must of course be the new changes in the nutrient potions. I must plan to make more tests!"

Small fingers spasm, he drops his head to hide the nasty sneer and wild eyes that morph onto his features._ 'I hate him! I hate him! I hate him!'_

"Tell me," Leaning back in a chair, the elder waves his hand about the spare classroom. "Has your magic come back?"

A gasp. Harry shakes his head violently as he rests a hand atop a transfigured ring. He can't remember all the details, but his Holly and Phoenix wand had been ruined the night before. Earlier that morning after the release from the Infirmary, the Headmaster told him that he and his godfather can take a trip over the weekend to see Ollivander. The bearded male had also asked him not to tell Doctor Surmon about the disappearance of Gemma Farley. He doesn't know what's happened, and even though he might want to find out, he also believes in keeping his head down for the whole thing to blow over.

"Ah, that's too bad. I understand how disappointed you must be."

_'Liar.'_

"Hopefully in time it will begin to develop."

Hope. That single word disgusts the youth. His attention deviates as his healer goes on about connections between chained charms and rare ingredients that might enhance the potions he's taking now. Green orbs shift over the stone floor and lock on to something in the back of the classroom.

Tiny hairs stand on end as he gazes at the humanoid shade stationed in the corner. Their own shadows are cast against the opposite wall, so this particular phenomenon can't possibly be natural. Somehow, the Potter heir feels as if it's staring back, watching the discussion with interest.

A distant noise echoes into the shell of his ear. It sounds as if someone is sobbing...

His hackles rise, yet he refuses to look away from the shade. His uneasiness grows along with panic. What would happen if he did look away? The sobbing grows louder and louder to an unbearable height, until-

* * *

"_Potter!_"

Harry jerks violently in his seat, knocking over his potions book from the table.

"Are you going to hurry up and get your ingredients for class or sit there drooling away?"

A few Gryffindors start snickering in giggles, the students passing from their assigned seats to the supply cupboard. Those Slytherins who aren't actively ignoring his presence scoff openly in disdain.

He gapes at Professor Snape towering over him. "I... s-sorry, sir!"

Harry's secret role-model frowns in distaste. "Do not stutter, Potter. We have quite enough of that from Longbottom here." If the man could burn a hole with his eyes alone, the other cowering boy would be a dark smudge on the ground. The Professor almost felt bad with pairing Lily's son with the useless Gryffindor, but Harry needs punishment for dazing off. What better way to force one of his serpents to work harder than putting them with another student horrible at potions? "Get to it."

"Yes, sir!" When the gloomy man stomps away, Harry glances at the shivering kid. He lets out a terribly mournful sigh at having being partnered with a Gryffindor... and the worst one in class at that. _'This is grossly unfair!' _

Standing quickly, he scrambles to the cupboard as the last few students grab up items. Glaring at two girls snickering at him, Harry stumbles in shock when the brute Goyle shoulderchecks him. The act of it makes the boy cringe in annoyance. He sends a heated snarl back at the grinning idiot. The sudden attack brings a slight blurriness to his vision. He reaches up to adjust his glasses, only to find that he isn't wearing any. His heart picks up with a shudder for some odd reason. Something foreboding shifts in the back of his mind.

"Harry..."

A pale hand rests on the snakling's arm then and green irises are bewildered as they catch mercury. Malfoy is smiling at him. Not the usual friendly grin or mischievous smirk. It's a sad sort of smile. A pitying one. Harry rips his limb back and pointedly turns away to grab the last few things he'll need. He slips back to his seat without making eye-contact again and sets to the task of laying down ground rules for Longbottom to follow.

"Just don't touch anything!" He whispers harshly at the end of his rant. The plump child ducks in shame, but Harry has no pity for him. He doesn't have pity for anyone -including himself. Which is probably why his silent fury is enough to burn the image of a _kind_ Draco Malfoy from his mind. How infuriating. The Potter heir knew the moment he took that Slytherin oath of the consequences. He failed. Failed! He should be completely ostracized and take his time to find something to impress his House at a later date. Already he's scheming and plotting on what to do. If the Slytherin Prince is going to bypass all the rules and show him sympathy, Harry's going to tear out more than just that blond hair. He has standards! Tradition! Legacy! Those things are important to him.

"Uh... um. P-Potter?"

Sweet Morgana no wonder Snape looked as if he wished to smack him earlier. '_Stuttering is such a nuisance.'_ "What?"

"Your, er..."

"_What_?" Harry glowers at the other.

Neville Longbottom, too scared and shy, can only point to the object that his partner is chewing on absently.

A low grunt of surprise and Harry lowers what's left of the dried carcass of a mummified lizard. He drops it on the table as if burned. The raven-haired youth can't decide if his revulsion is centered on the fact that he was actually _eating_ a poisonous potion ingredient like it was a snack, or the knowledge that it actually doesn't taste all that bad. He spits the dried pieces onto the floor, the husk-like flesh speckles the table leg and he wipes away the spittle from his mouth with a sleeve.

At the front of the class, Professor Snape seems agitated for a completely different reason. Wand tapping rapidly, his arms are crossed and onyx orbs watching the door. As if he's a viper, strung tight and ready, he waits eagerly for more information. He needs time in dealing with Professor Quirrell and getting updates from Auror Black. To continue teaching class, without being proactive in the dark events surrounding Hogwarts, is scrapping away his last patience. There are so many more important things he can be doing at the moment. Trying to calm himself, he takes stalk in the students. Lily's child takes charge over the potion, which interests the man somewhat as last night is still fresh in his memory.

When he had walked into the Common Room, he'd been very peeved to find half of Slytherin House huddled in chairs and sleeping on the sofas. The ceremonial fires of flickering green mounted the walls, cued the Head of House in that there was an initiation under way. It wasn't too hard to guess that it belonged to Harry Potter. Severus had gone hunting through the castle to check on the boy's progress and maybe instill a healthy amount of fear into the other, when he came upon the most peculiar sight. He had been completely thrown for a loop upon finding said male bare as the day he was born, lying on the tiles of the seventh floor. Being the pessimistic individual that he is, Snape immediately believed the worst of possible occurrences. Taking the boy straight to Madame Pomfrey, he demanded the youth to be checked _thoroughly_. Besides being unbearably cold and some mind magicks tinkering with Harry's memory, no one had raped Lily's child -thank Mabb for that. He would have burned the school to ashes to find the perpetrator and blown them to bits. Now, he'll stalk his target and take his time. For even if the Slytherin hadn't been molested, he _had_ been Imperio'd... or something close to it.

As it is, more mysteries on the quiet snakling have only multiplied further since then, such as Harry's sudden good health.

Head swinging to the left enough to see the boy without the usual thick glasses, Snape dissects the smooth skin and flushed coloring. Much better than the shallow cheeks and sickly parlor. Harry's movement even appear more fluid and confident. He spends a moment speculating impossible reasons.

Just then, the door slams open revealing a man of Pureblood stature; blond hair pulled back and cane in hand. The hasty intrusion startles a red-headed boy who drops far too many Hag's fingernail clippings into a cauldron. It's effect is immediate as the blue potion changes sickly green and froths over onto the table. The Potions Professor is already making a beeline to the classroom doors as he casually punishes the student with a bored droll. "Weasley, ten points from Gryffindor."

The snakes jeer over the groaning lions, instead of Draco Malfoy who whirls around in his seat with a pinched expression. "Father?"

Holding one of the school's Board of Director positions, Lucius Malfoy makes it his business to appear when things aren't going so smoothly. One might say that the man plays messenger simply to snoop around in hopes of finding blackmail to force the Headmaster to resign. With a cold glance, the Malfoy Lord nods to his son.

"Is this about Gemma Farley?" Mullicent Bulstrode pipes up, demanding to know more about the disappearance of their female Prefect. Parkinson too seems deeply interested.

"What? A Prefect is missing?" A Gryffindor in the back exclaims. Whispers begin in conversation at each station, children glancing at others for confirmation. The Slytherin's go completely quiet with deadly glares at their inquiries.

"Get back to work. _All of you_. I will return shortly."

Harry is frowning too. _'Where _has_ she gone anyway?' _Just then he spies Parkinson's studying him like a lab experiment, he bares his teeth at her and goes back to his potion. It's a nice calm blue and if Longbottom doesn't try to _help_ they'll get a passing grade for it.

A hissing sound draws the sullen student from his thoughts to search the shadows of the dark classroom. Determining that the cauldron must simply be simmering, he is somewhat taken aback when he hears the soft crying of a girl. Bewildered, Harry peeks over at Parkinson and Bulstrode who seem fine. Confusion crosses the youth's face as he scans all the females in the class, none of them actually crying. For a moment he believes that Parkinson is messing with him... then he spots the shadow behind the Professor's desk.

Automatically Harry swallows and looks away. _'It doesn't exist! It's just another illusion!'_

The shade becomes more solidified. The sobs grow in volume. He does his best to ignore it, but there's a taste in his mouth that he can't identify. Delicious and... uh he's so hungry.

Bluish-grey dots form near the top of the shadow. It watches him. Nervously or subconsciously, the first year doesn't realize that he's picked up a potion ingredient at some point. There's just this single craving that he's trying to fulfill. Harry gnaws on the dead lizard.

* * *

"Hungry?"

It's such an odd question that Harry snorts and comes face to face with Malfoy... sitting beside him in the Great Hall.

"What?" Perplexed, the male swivels in his seat to make sure he really_ is_ in the large room or if it's just his imagination.

"I said, 'are you hungry?'" The blond pauses while lifting a silver fork to his mouth.

"Er..." He peers down at the dishes of British fare. A waft of decomposed meat and sourness invades his nostrils. Harry gags. "No! No, I'm fine."

A sculptured brow quivers in place and Draco sets down the utensil. From watching his childhood hero since the beginning of the school year, he's come to realize how little the other boy actually eats. At first he believed that it's the reason for Potter's skeletal form and fidgeting, but then he remembered the rumors which passed his parent's lips on the hushed information that only few ministry workers actually know. The Boy-Who-Lived may have survived the killing curse, yet the Dark Lord's power gave the child a horrid parting gift. -_"If the boy lives, then he shall suffer."-_ Those are the very words that the Malfoy Patriarch claims that his former Lord thought at the end. Lucius Malfoy cannot prove it of course. His once Death Eater father can only feel justified with Harry Potter's sickly demeanor. When the man was in one of 'those' moods, Draco would never dare speak his mind. He'd keep his own thoughts and feelings on Harry Potter hidden behind closed doors. Call him stubborn, selfish, or even in denial... the blond refuses for Potter's illness to worsen to the point of his peer's death. He only just got on speaking terms with the brunette. "You should try to eat something. Some sweets maybe?"

Harry levels the Slytherin Prince with a look. Several Slytherins hiss at the blatant disrespect, making him blush with embarrassment and lower his head. The fuming Potter misses Malfoy sneer aimed at the others. He flinches when the boy leans closer to whisper lowly.

"I don't know what happened last night... but I can guess there must have been some outside interference."

Trying to ignore his peer's breath ghosting across his neck, Harry pushes boiled cabbage and potatoes around the embroidered plate as he listens. At the mention of 'interference', the male checks three seats down to where Parkinson preens with the other first year females. A flash of the night before; the conniving bint shook his hand, the tasks' final note reading -_Meow-_.

Harry snarls as he stabs a harmless potato. A burst of his darker emotions lash out like every time before his temper gets the better of him... but this time a physical wave sweeps through limbs and strikes outward. The fork goes straight into the plate and breaks the china clean in half. Melted butter and cabbage grease leaks onto the table below where the fork's tongs are embedded to the hilt. There's a smidgen of awe as a rush of vindictive accomplishment soothes his anger. A wicked smile of parted lips. A faint glow of green irises.

Beside him, the Pureblood falls silent so suddenly that he finally returns the gaze with a tamed smirk. "Are you okay, Malfoy?"

"I... yes. That was just... unexpected."

His grin turns sly. "Well we _are_ wizards aren't we?"

"Yes. Yes we are."

Harry's smug look falters. "Why are you staring at me like that?"

A fevered pink crawls up Draco's face. "Nothing..." The blond takes another bite of brisket to make the moment less awkward. He chews mechanically, profiling Potter without being too obvious. Dark silkier hair curling around the rosy cheeks. Impossibly green irises unhindered by frames. The youth is finding it harder and harder not to openly stare or even touch the other.

"What is it?" Harry says in exasperation.

"You look good. I mean!" Draco sputters, wishing to be anywhere else then sitting there making a fool of himself. "You look better than before..." His voice trails off as those emerald eyes stare back.

"Draco darling." Another voice breaks the odd tension between the two males, and Parkinson shifts in her seat. She pretends to look around in confusion, overlooking Potter on purpose. "Who are you talking to?"

It's a stab at his situation and Harry hunches in on himself, miserable with failing the 'test'. He was so close to getting the last ribbon too! Ignoring everything else when Malfoy tries to rise in his defense, the boy lets out a sigh. Can't the brat see that it's just getting worse? The rest of the table is starting to give him threatening glares as if he's somehow bewitched the Pureblood into standing up for Harry.

There are steps along the wall behind him and Harry stiffens in place. The sensation of someone entering his personal space makes the boy turn ever so slightly. Whoever it is though, walks in the opposite direction, causing him to only catch a shadow that disperses into nothing. His orbs linger and heart pounds. Are the illusions acting up again?

"What is Auror Black doing here?"

Blaise's question jerks Harry around to look at the Head Table. Sure enough, Sirius Black sits grinning between the Headmaster and Hagrid, garnering bellows of laughter from the half-giant. On the other end, furthest away from Dumbledore sits Lord Malfoy with a displeased sneer on his regal face. His godfather catches him staring in open shock and sends Harry a wink.

Thoroughly confused, the Potter heir allows his eyebrows to furrow. What is his godfather doing here? He heard that Sirius came to check up on him in the Infirmary, but he hadn't been told that the man is staying in the castle. It isn't even near the end of the week yet... Harry curses under his breath a second later. How stupid is he? Gemma Farley is missing. His godfather is an Auror. _That's_ the reason the man is here. The Slytherin pointedly refuses to glance back up at the shaggy haired male again. Too jumbled in hurt thoughts and childish emotions.

"-heard she got a letter from some French boy."

"No, he's Austrian I swear."

"I smell a scandal-"

"Was he a muggleborn?"

"Did she get pregnant?"

"Makes sense if she took off..."

Doing his best to ignore the gossip around him, Harry rolls a potato into the crack and smashes it down in boredom. He awaits patiently for someone else to leave lunch first so he doesn't draw too much attention to himself.

There's a few second years making rude gestures at one another. A male trying to memorize class notes. The usual bickering and rumors from several nosy individuals. Then of course that awful sobbing in the background...

Just then that same lurking _feeling_ from earlier grows into existence. Searching for the odd shadow apparition, Potter's jaw drops when he sees the back of a naked boy. No one in the enormous hall spots the figure walking towards a group of Hufflepuff upper years that are moving towards the doors. He feels like he recognizes the nude individual even with their back to him... The blurry form worsens until he has to squint and as he rubs both eyes -a second later the person disappears.

Harry stands up from his seat, startling a few students. Hair tossing from left to right, he can't find the naked male again. Is it just his imagination? And bloody Mordred, if that girl doesn't shut the hell up -he'll give her something to really cry about!

* * *

Harry stumbles and runs into a closed door. The raven-haired child is able to catch himself before planting his face in the wood thankfully. Yet, when did he get here? He's sure that he was in the Great Hall... Where is he?

Craning his head, the Potter youth notices the Infirmary sign above the white-wash door. _'Oh yeah, I need to get my potions after every meal.'_ Conflicted, he pushes into the large sterile space. Windows arched high with light filtering in from the afternoon sun. Harry blinks at the brightness and everything suddenly becomes slightly more fuzzy. Once again he tries rearranging his glasses, but finds that he isn't wearing any... There's a heavy sense of deja-vu.

He slows to a stop.

"Mr. Potter! A bit late are we not?" Madame Pomfrey is sitting at the desk on the back wall. A series of bulbous containers resting on the tabletop.

Wobbling on his feet, Harry moves forward cautiously as a wave of tiredness seeps into him. He can feel the usual suctioning of his strength being sapped away. A spike of fear stabs through him as he realizes that he's becoming weaker. _'I should have come sooner. If the potions are actually helping, I need to make sure I take them on schedule!'_

A moment later he reaches her and soundlessly downs the first two bottles. Another one catches his eye and he frowns disheartened. The nurse follows his orbs to the cylinder shape and tinted glass of the phial. The etching on the side reads _T#J00_ with the initials _P.T.S_ underneath it. A chill runs through the boy.

"Yes, this must be Doctor Surmon's newest potion." She looks to him worriedly. "He says that he wishes he were here to watch you take it, but there were other things he needed to tend to..."

The youth chooses not to comment on the woman's sour face. Harry knows she abhors the man as much as he does.

"Take a seat... he's requested that I take notes of any changes."

Sinking into the uncomfortable chair, the eleven year old grinds his teeth together as he picks it up. Inside, the contents shift, a phosphorus purple. Popping open the top cork, he downs it in one swallow. A rich flavor stings across his taste buds and Harry sucks in a breath of surprise. _'This... this is similar... not the same no... but similar! What is this?!'_

Pleasure blossoms in his chest. That doesn't always mean a good thing. In fact, being Harry -that means something _very_ wrong is happening. Green orbs widen in realization. He slaps a hand at his abdomen and looks up.

"Mr. Potter?"

He opens his mouth, but purple foam comes out startling both of them. The room spins and a wonderful feeling of arousal intensifies shooting down from his lungs. The Slytherin falls to the floor, legs kicking and arms flailing. He can't _breathe_.

"Mr. Potter!" Madame Pomfrey's voice is shrill as she stands quickly and scurries into the office to grab one of the emergency potions.

Harry spasms on the floor. Dots fill his vision as darkness creeps in. He's blanketed by overpowering bliss and a blackened void of nothingness..._ 'No. No. No. No. I don't want to die! I don't want to DIE!'_

Strong arms envelope the boy, picking the child from the ground.

A tasteless liquid enters his mouth and soon he's heaving the contents of the last potion into a summoned bucket. Long minutes stretch by. Someone holds him tightly as he empties his system. A washcloth wipes the sweat from his face. His robes are removed. Harry rests with his chilled cheek against a hot collarbone. Once he gathers his bearings, the youth comes to find that he knows the scent from the older man. Several emotion wage inside of him. He chokes aloud, "Father..."

"Hadrian. I'm sorry... I'm so sorry."

He hates it. Being coddled by Lord Potter. Being held like a frail thing... like a _dying_ thing that the man just can't let go. Mostly, he hates his father's words; 'I'm sorry' or 'it's going to be okay' and 'let's hope for the best'...

With all his might, the Slytherin pushes away to sit on the bed closeby. "Why are you here?"

The nurse is standing by. Empty vial and worry lines deepened. Slowly she moves away for the two males to speak to each other. She will certainly write a parcel to Doctor Surmon and tell him to keep his horrifying creations off school property!

When the woman leaves, James Potter, still dressed in his Auror robes turns to his son. The bespectacled man shares close features with his son. Unruly hair, sloped noses, and weary expressions... "I... I came to see how you're doing."

Harry doesn't quite believe it. Sure, he knows his father loves him. The man lavishes him with everything a child can ever hope for. Although, when it comes to spending time with the boy. He can see the pain it causes the elder Potter. The youth can practically hear dreary thoughts revolving around him. Deep down, Harry can tell that his own father thinks he'll die soon. Not yet, but soon. His pitiful parent suffers because he is suffering. He absolutely _hates_ it!

"Then why didn't you come last night? Sirius did..."

"Hadrian. I had things to do. You know how hard it is with my position as Head Auror."

_'Liar! You mean how hard it is to see me!'_ Harry turns away, looking at anything else besides the man fidgeting across from him. He glowers at the far wall that's hard to see. The youth scrubs at each eye carefully in hopes that it'll right itself. It doesn't. Flinching when James leans forward, Harry drops his attention to a case being pushed into his lap.

"I was told you were found without your glasses. Here's your second pair from home..."

"Thanks..."

There's an awkward pause. Harry tries to busy himself by opening the black box and pulling out circular frames. He places the neat silver on his nose and shoves it into place. He knows that he looks even more like his father now. That thought irritates him for different reasons.

"Hadrain-"

"It's Harry... just Harry."

"Harry." James sighs lowly, running a hand through short locks that spike out in random directions. "I need to ask you some things."

A murderous glare is pointed at sleek shoes as the Potter child keeps his head down. He already knows where the conversation is leading. It angers him. "About what?"

"It's about Gemma Farley, it's about her disappearance."

"I don't know anything!"

"Hadr-Harry! Calm down... please if you could just remember anything."

Eyes screwed shut, Harry does his best to block everything out. He doesn't want to deal with this. Not Doctor Surmon. Not Draco Malfoy. Certainly not even his father!

"There's a girl missing. Probably kidnapped and scared, Hadrian. Please."

A twisted sneer. He doesn't remember Prefect Farley being scared. In fact, with his eyes tightly closed he can see her oval face... in an awkward dreamy quality. That's odd... very odd... especially with the sound of sobbing.

"Can you remember?"

Harry lifts his chin to retort at the man, but instead he stares at the intruder stationed behind his father. The snakeling can see the other male standing near the doors. A very petite and dangerous looking boy with dark hair, slate grey eyes, and a bloody wound trickling down a naked body.

* * *

"Wait up!"

With a yelp, Harry staggers on both feet. Arms out at the sides and large eyes taking in everything around him, he turns in time to see Malfoy bounding towards him. It seems as if he's about to step into the Slytherin Common Room. "What?"

The blond joins him with an accusing look. "You were walking too fast. What's wrong?"

"Er... how did I get here?"

Snorting in amusement, the Pureblood smirks at the ridiculous question. "We walked here from the Infirmary of course."

He blinks in confusion. "Madame Pomfrey let me go?"

"Potter... she's the one that told me to take you. You're father didn't like it," There's a smug grin as he continues, "but he said he was busy. Don't you remember?"

Worry begins to gather at the back of his thoughts. "No... not at all."

Draco's smile drops. "Are you-" He's jumps in shock as the small hands latch onto his arms. "P-P-Potter!"

"Hush. Listen." There's a frantic gleam in the raven-haired boy's eyes. "There's something wrong."

Malfoy's tone also descends into a whisper. "What?"

"My memory."

"What?"

"Just listen!" The panic spreads through him. "I think. I think there's something wrong with my memory."

"What do you mean?"

"I-I'm about to do something... or remember something. Then everything changes. I'm somewhere different than I was before. I'm doing something different than I was doing before... I think someone's messing with my memory!"

At this point, the Slytherin Prince too is bewildered and fearful. "What? That's impossible! I mean... I've never heard of that. Do you think it's a curse of some kind?"

Harry shakes his head. "I don't know. I... don't know what to do."

"Do you want to go back to the Infirmary? Your father might still be there."

"No! No..."

Draco considers the other with thinned lips. The Potter's relationship between father and son is rocky, he can certainly relate to that sometimes. "We can wait for Snape. He said he'll need to speak to all of us tonight..."

"Okay." He removes his palms.

As if remembering something, the more popular boy shoves an appendage into fine robes and pulls out an apple. He offers it to the friend he'll hopefully have one day. "Here... I noticed you didn't eat anything at lunch."

"Ugh... thanks."

The passage opens as a few upper years are coming out. The two nod to each other and Harry takes a step towards the stone wall -when almost immediately his surroundings change.

Not like before, where he feels out of place and has forgotten how he got there. This time it's sort of like a full blown illusion draping over his eyes. Everything's surreal like a dream. He stands staring into a round entrance with runes glowing from above...

In the abysmal room, strange shapes are littered across the floor. There's a slight draft and the atmosphere is haunting. Inward, Harry hears his own subconscious give a horrible jabbering noise of useless phrases that he can't understand. _'What's going on?'_

Slowly, so unbearably slowly, the boy moves his head as a figure steps from his side. He registers shock. "Farley?"

Indeed. The Prefect stands _right_ there next to him. Wand slack in her hand and shoulders relaxed. There's a stupid grin on her face.

"Where have you been?" His voice makes a weird echoing sound. Muffled and far away. "Everyone's been looking for you! Farley?"

_**She can't hear you.**_

Something cold brushes his shoulder and Harry glances to his other side. There's another person standing close. Bluish orbs luminous and calculating. Body bare and bleeding. He feels like he should know this boy. That they've met before... where? Who?

Gemma steps forward, disappearing into the darkness.

"Wait!" He reaches out-

* * *

Fire crackles. Harry jerks his hand back from the open flames of the Slytherin Hearth. He whips around so fast that the low murmurs of talking halt as suddenly as his gaze lands on the students sitting on chairs and sofas in a half-circle around him. Mostly first and second years with varying degrees of bored expressions. Malfoy is there too, standing at the helm. The blond once had their attention, but it deviated to himself in that moment.

Nott raises an eyebrow in semi-amusement at Potter's 'lost look'.

They continue their discussion.

"Why should he get another chance so soon? The rules says he has to wait at least a full year!" Blaise tries to keep a neutral expression, but there's a glint of disgust in his dark orbs.

"Things have changed." Draco says, remaining stubborn.

"What's changed? It hasn't even been twenty-four hours yet." One of the second years speak up with a droll.

"Look at him!" The Malfoy gives a frustrated gesture. "Just look at him closely!"

His ears burn red in embarrassment as all eyes zero in on him.

"Huh... he looks different."

"Better." A female purrs.

Nott smirks, eyeing the brunette. "A _lot_ better, I'd say."

Blaise lets out a grunt of displeasure. "So you're riding on his sudden looks now?"

Rounding on the tanned male, Draco scoffs. "Oh please. What are the basics that we pride ourselves in Slytherin?"

"Money." Someone pipes up.

"Power." The same girl from before simpers.

"Beauty." Nott winks.

Harry has the sudden urge to slap the boy. Yet there's this absolutely horrid taste in his mouth. He cringes as he looks down to see the apple in his hand with a bite taken out of it. Tiny maggots wiggle in his mouth and the youth turns to spite it out into the fire. Why in blazes did he try to eat it?!

He doesn't realize he said that last thought out loud, until a snort originates from Nott. "Still a bit of a wacko though, huh?"

Anger seethes out from his core. Harry can feel the tingling of darkness that he felt at lunch time build inside him. "How did I get here?"

More snickers. "You walked through the door with Malfoy!"

"But I... I saw Farley and a boy. A naked boy who-"

By now the snickering turns into full blown laughter.

"He's off his rocker for sure."

"Daydreaming about boys-"

"What a ponce!"

Red swarms his sight, but something pale and blond stomps right up to him. A harsh whisper draws the male out of rage. "What in the blazes are you doing, Potter?! Don't you see I'm trying to help you?"

He snaps back, equally irate. "Why? Why help me at all?! What do you get out of this Malfoy? What sense is there to help the _useless _sick kid, huh?"

"I..." Draco's silvery eyes widen. "Because I want to help you, you prat! Because maybe I think of you as a friend!"

"When have you _ever _told me that? Huh? Never! You may stand up for me, but only when it's convenient for you! I must be such a _disappointing _friend!" The male feels delight in seeing Malfoy gape like a suffocating fish.

"Potter!" A shriek signifies Pansy Parkinson's arrival. The girl advances past the occupants in their group and shoves the boy with glasses back from her secret crush. "Where's Farley?!"

The others groan. This same conversation had been circulating all day and it seems it's already boring gossip.

"She's gone Parkinson."

"Ran off with that Swedish bloke."

"Got herself knocked up!"

There's a purple tint to the female's face. "I know Farley personally! A friend of the family. Not once did I meet this supposed boyfriend -and she certainly wasn't pregnant!"

"Well it's said he _was_ a muggleborn."

"Or possibly a muggle." Someone adds in, unhelpfully.

"Shut up!" Parkinson whirls to snarl at Potter. "Farley wouldn't just run off! You've done something to her!"

"I didn't-" Harry's hands are up in defense. If he can use his wand, but no, it's just a transfigured ring.

"What did you do Potter? Did you curse her and stuff her body in a closet somewhere?! Did you-"

There's a loud thud as the apple falls to the floor and rolls away.

"Potter?"

"Harry?!"

But he doesn't hear Parkinson or Malfoy. He only hears the sobbing...

* * *

There's a flash as something intangible snaps within him. Memories begin to flood his mind and Harry is screaming.

Spitting and howling, ripping and tearing.

The door.

The cave.

The painting, and beyond that... Farley's back to him. A ballroom littered in bones. Shameless naked gods eating small bodies and fornicating with one another.

The gore.

The man.

The _hunger_.

_**Finally.**_

* * *

He lowers his hands mechanically. Glasses shift to the edge of his nose as Harry gazes blankly at the slick rocky ground. A deep grinding noise shifts and morphs and warmth seeps onto him. His shadow stretches away as the brilliant light cradles his form. The male blinks and straightens up, finding himself in the last place that he'd ever think to tread again. The ancient door is open and this time the room inside isn't dilapidated with broken furniture or covered in dust from centuries of disuse.

This time, the wooden floor is polished. The furniture is reupholstered. Bookshelves are immaculate. Oil lamps are glimmering. And standing by the painting...

"Voldemort..." The name slips from between his lips.

Where is the horror? The pain? The madness of monsters in shadows and disfigured demons howling for flesh?

Instead of these terrifying things, a soothing voice, holding a husky melody calls out to him from within. Light amusement. A secretive fondness... "I was wondering when you would come to visit me again, _Harry_."

Pupils dilate and yearning unravels in his chest.

Without hesitation, without thought, without fear...

Harry steps through the portal.

* * *

**End Chapter.**

**Hybronomy: an umberlla term for all studies dealing with human hybrids, werefolk, halfbloods, undead, and every documented being of human orgin.**

**Give me some feedback, it's been awhile. Does everyone still adore this story?**


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